The One I'm Fighting For
by Shakespeare's Lemonade
Summary: Sam died finishing the trials. Dean's last act before he joins his brother is going to be rescuing a fallen angel, but when he finds Castiel just as broken as he is and in need of help, death has to wait, and in the meantime, Dean might find another reason to live. Warnings: major character death, suicidal thoughts, no pairings, AU of season 9. COMPLETE.
1. Last Acts

The One I'm Fighting For

Shakespeare's Lemonade

Rating: T

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Friendship

Summary: Sam died finishing the trials. Dean's last act before he joins his brother is going to be rescuing a fallen angel, but when he finds Castiel just as broken as he is and in need of help, death has to wait, and in the meantime, Dean might find another reason to live.

A/N: This story is an AU of what might have happened if Sam had finished the third trial. So, it diverts from the main plot of season nine in a major way: no Abaddon, a human Crowley, no Ezekiel possessing Sam; and, you know, Sam being dead. No pairings so far, just the unhealthy codependency we're used to on the show.

Warnings: major character death, suicidal thoughts, the usual.

_"I will fight for you, if it's all I do."~Article One_

**Chapter One "Last Acts"**

It's raining angels, and Sam is dead. Crowley is in tears. Not about Sam, but what does it matter? Dean's whole life has just fallen apart in spite of the fact that the gates of Hell are now closed. He couldn't care less if the demon bastards wanted to overrun the Earth. He'd have taken them all on single handedly if it meant keeping his brother safe.

But it's too late. Dean had tried to warn Sam, but he hadn't listened. Just went through with the whole thing, knowing it'd end with him dead. Sam had been okay with that.

Dean is not.

Dean is so far from okay, staring at his brother's body, curled up on the floor. Sam's convulsions and Dean's shouts are over. There's no blood. No broken bones. No blaze of glory. Sam just gave up. Dean begged him to stop. He hears the words he never quite said echoing in his head:

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

He had meant it. Along with every word he actually did say. Sam had to know what would happen if he chose to go through with the last trial. He had to know there was only one option for Dean.

"He's dead." Crowley sounds surprised as he stares at the body by his feet.

Dean would like nothing more at this moment than to shoot the demon son of a bitch. Except he isn't a demon anymore, and Sam's last act on Earth was turning Crowley human. The least Dean can do is let the guy deal with it.

"You're not just gonna leave me here?" Crowley says as Dean turns toward the doorway. He sounds worried. Afraid.

Dean looks back. "No," he says. "You're gonna help me dig."

Because Dean has been through this whole circus before, and he's not going to draw it out any more. He's going to bury his brother, check on Cas, send Crowley off into the sunset, and then he's going to find a nice big cliff to drive off of. Every moment between now and then will be pure agony, but Dean, of all people, is used to that.

Crowley is slow, and Dean just about whacks him with his shovel a couple of times. This is going to take long enough as it is. Of course, it would go faster with Sam, but Sam wouldn't be digging his own grave, now would he?

At least there's the absence of Crowley's usual snarky attitude. Maybe it's being human, but he seems very... un-Crowley. It's a little freaky actually, and Dean is glad he won't be around long enough to find out what a demon-turned-human looks like on a day to day basis.

When the hole is done, Dean realizes that he actually has to go back into the church and carry out Sam's body.

"Wait here," he says as he walks away from Crowley, not waiting for a response. He doesn't get one.

Dean knows Sam is bigger than him, and it would be easier to carry him with help, but there's no one living Dean would allow to touch his brother right now. Sam is right where Dean left him, curled in on himself, an ugly burn on his arm the only sign anything happened to him. He was already pale, but death has turned his skin ashen.

The church is silent. Broken glass and empty chains tell the story of what happened here. But it's over now. Dean gets down on his knees beside Sam and pulls his brother up to a sitting position. He pushes back the hair that's fallen in Sam's face.

Dean wishes he could think of something to say. He knows Sam can't hear him, but he feels like he should tell him it's okay, that everything's gonna be fine, and they'll see each other soon. But he can't. There's too much to deal with between now and then. It might as well be a lifetime.

Pulling Sam closer so that his head rests on Dean's shoulder, Dean lets out a shaky breath. He knows what Sam would say. That he should move on, live a life free of all the blood and chaos that characterized their entire existence. How could he? How could Dean let go of everything that connected him to Sam? Even if he did last through the day. Which he won't. Once this is over, once everyone is okay, Dean will join Sam. For now, though, he has to bury his brother.

Carrying Sam outside is easier than it should be. Dean has always carried Sam, and somehow, he's always known it would be like this. Dean was always going to bury Sam. All that talk of destiny was a bunch of crap. Sam and Dean had made their own destiny. It was their actions that led them here. This is the inevitable end because of the choices they made. Dean wonders if there's any part of it he would take back, knowing how it all turned out. He would have fought Sam harder to be the one to do the trials. Because Sam could have lived without Dean. Dean can't live without Sam.

Crowley stands there beside the grave, silent and serious. He doesn't say anything when Dean lays Sam in the ground. He holds his shovel, waiting for the order to fill the hole.

Dean wishes like crazy he had the guts to kill Crowley, more because he doesn't want him there than any real anger at the man himself. He had been a demon, done what demons do. Who could blame him? It's not his fault Sam is dead, and he seems to actually be upset by it.

"You can go," Dean says, kneeling in the dirt. He'll fill in the grave by himself.

Crowley looks down at him, confused. "Where would I go?" he asks, and his voice sounds as if it's being weighed down by something so heavy it threatens to suffocate both of them.

Dean doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know what the hell Crowley is supposed to do now. He didn't think that far ahead. He wants to say he doesn't care, but that's not true. Crowley is here because of Sam. Dean cares immensely.

So, he only nods and stands up, reaching for the other shovel. He doesn't look at Sam as he pours cold dirt over his body. It's not Sam anymore in that hole. He's long gone.

It's dark when they finish, and Crowley's got blisters on his hands. He doesn't complain, but Dean can tell he's worn out from all the work. Probably hungry too. Dean knows he shouldn't care, but he does. As he puts the shovels away and gathers the last of their things from the church, Dean has a feeling this is going to take longer than he initially thought.

And then the angels start falling from the sky.

**~oOo~**

The King of Hell is riding shotgun. Dean wishes this were a strange occurrence for him. He had sent Crowley on a shopping spree with one of his many credit cards. Apparently, the former demon didn't like wearing the same clothes for days and had very particular tastes. Dean had taken that time to get some food.

Now he waits in the car outside the department store, thinking this is taking too long. He had hoped to be long since on the road. He hasn't heard from Cas yet, which is unsettling. Maybe Heaven is closed and those other angels fell to escape. Maybe he'll never see Cas again. That thought really shouldn't bother Dean since he's planning on taking a trip in that direction soon anyway. But it does.

On top of all that, the gates of Hell might be closed, but there are hundreds, if not thousands, of angels wandering around the Earth with no idea what they've gotten themselves into. Dean hopes against hope that Cas made it out too. They're going to need him.

Not that it matters because Dean is leaving soon.

When Crowley returns to the car, he's looking happier, though he walks stiffly. Probably from his hours of digging. Now that he's without his demonic powers, Crowley is going to have to get used to aches and pains like everyone else. Dean still hasn't fully thought through what's going to become of Crowley now that he's human. Maybe Crowley hasn't really thought about it either because he seems to be in a decent mood.

That is, until he gets in the car and sees the fast food bag on the middle of the seat. "How do you eat that stuff?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "It's good enough for Death; it's good enough for me."

"Planning on visiting your old friend sometime soon?" Crowley has always been straight to the nerve.

"Maybe," Dean says. "First I gotta figure out what to do with you."

"Why must you do something with me?"

"I did say you could leave. You didn't."

"And why is that, hmm? I should think you had me right where you wanted me."

"Yeah well... You caught me in a good mood."

Crowley scoffs. "Hardly. You're brother's dead, and you're not angry at all. And how could you be? It was his choice, wasn't it? No, you're so far beyond angry. But that's not why you didn't kill me."

"Don't make me change my mind." Dean pushes the food toward Crowley, and his phone rings. Thankfully. It's a number he doesn't recognize, but he doesn't care right now and answers quickly. "Yeah?"

"Dean?" A frightened voice comes across the line.

"Cas? Where are you?"

"I'm not entirely sure." There are highway noises in the background. "It was a setup, Dean. Metatron didn't want to close all the angels in Heaven, he wanted to cast them all out."

"So that was the meteor shower earlier. All the angels are on Earth now?"

"Yes. And that's not all."

"Look, you can tell me all about it back at the bunker."

"That's just the problem, Dean. I can't get there."

"Why not?"

"The third part of the spell. Metatron took my grace. I'm human now."

Dean feels his stomach drop and his heart rise to his throat. All his plans, his intentions go out the window with those words. He can't leave Cas stranded, and the fact that he's human brings on a whole other mountain of issues.

"Okay," Dean says. "Just figure out where you are, and we'll come find you."

He doesn't have a choice. He only wants to die, but he can't just yet. Cas needs him. And that matters.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading. This is my first multi-chapter Supernatural story, so I'd love to know how I'm doing and whether readers are interested for me to continue. Also, this story hasn't been betaed. I will try to remedy that.<em>


	2. Going Home

**Chapter Two "Going Home"**

It's morning by the time Dean sees a sign for the town Castiel had indicated the night before. Twelve miles. Crowley is sleeping in the passenger seat. They haven't stopped since Dean got Cas' call. Last night's burrito wrappers are still sitting between them. The radio's been on all night, drowning out Crowley's soft snores. Dean still can't believe he's here. This shouldn't be happening. None of it. Sam should be complaining about the music, about the mess, worrying about Cas. Sam shouldn't be dead.

It's been hours, and Dean still can't think straight. So many times, he's contemplated driving off the highway. He could pick up enough speed to send the Impala up in flames. The thought upsets Dean, slightly, but he knows that's how he'll go. Soon enough.

Maybe he's even happy at getting to see Cas again, to say goodbye. Not in so many words. Cas would try to stop him. At least Dean will get a chance to tell Cas... tell him what? Good times? Not really. He'll say something, but Dean doesn't know what it is yet.

His thoughts are broken when he sees a figure walking slowly along the side of the highway. The tan coat and the slumped shoulders are unmistakable. Dean pulls to a stop so quickly, it jolts Crowley awake. Dean doesn't have time to register the other man's shock as he gets out of the car, almost running toward his friend. He's seen the blood on Cas' clothes.

"You okay?" Dean asks breathlessly.

Cas looks at him, and there's something completely foreign in his eyes, a fear or sadness Dean has never seen before. "I ran into trouble," he says.

Dean forces a smile. "Looks like it. Whose blood is that?"

"Her name was Hael. The angels are coming after me."

"Why?"

Cas gives Dean an incredulous look. "Because I closed the gates of Heaven. Not to mention... everything else."

"But it wasn't your fault," Dean argues. He's arguing with himself. He wants to believe Cas will be okay.

"I'm the scapegoat, Dean," Cas replies solemnly. "You won't be safe with me."

"Shut up. It'll be fine. We just gotta get you some clean clothes and get back to the Batcave."

The begin to walk back toward the car when Cas notices Crowley standing beside the passenger door. "When you said 'we'..." Cas trails off. "Where's Sam?" There's real fear in his voice now.

"Sam completed the trials," Crowley says.

"He's dead?" Cas is still looking at Dean, finding his answers in the sad eyes and clenched fists of his friend.

"We should go," Dean says, continuing to the driver's door. "Cas gets shotgun."

"Of course, because you two are so close." Crowley sounds a little bit like himself again, but the jab is weak. He doesn't put much effort into it.

Everything is falling apart, and things just became much more complicated. Cas will need protecting now that he's human. Crowley will need watching. Kevin still needs looking after.

Dean can't leave yet. The realization hits him worse than watching his brother die. Because as Sam was dying, Dean was thinking of dying along with him. He can't now. He won't admit it yet, but he knows. As much as he wants to die, Dean knows he can't because too many people are counting on him. Just not Sam. Not the only one Dean needs in order to keep on fighting.

**~oOo~**

There are too many stops between picking up Cas and returning to the bunker. Of course, it doesn't take as long to find clothes for the former angel as it did for the persnickety ex-King of Hell. But there's another stop that inherently eats up more times. It's the first line of defense, and it's Cas' idea. Angel warding. Dean is a little surprised that Cas insists on Crowley participating as well. There is some argument about that, which is not at all surprising. Dean realizes quickly that there is far more tension between the two new humans than he's ever had with either of them. But he doesn't want to get to the bottom of it right now because they've taken long enough as it is. When they're all safe and had something to eat, maybe Dean will address that subject. But he doubts it. He doesn't care.

Except he does, and he can't stop caring. If he could, he would be dead by now, and that's all he wants.

When they've finally taken care of everything necessary, Dean begins the long drive back to Lebanon. He knows he's been awake for two days, but he doesn't want to waste any more time. Besides, Cas doesn't even know how to drive, and there's no way Dean is letting Crowley drive his Baby. He can keep his eyes open for a few more hours, just until they're safe.

Dean calls Kevin when they're about an hour from home and tells him to get some food. He doesn't tell him Sam's gone or who he's bringing home. Kevin's waited two days to hear from Dean; he can wait a little longer for the details. And Dean is tired. Not sleepy. Tired. He's been tired most of his life, but it's really catching up to him this time. He can't count the number of times he's considered swerving into oncoming traffic and solving everyone's problems right there. But he doesn't. He wouldn't really. Dean has a feeling when his death comes, it will be alone. He can taste the gunpowder in the air, imagining his final sensation.

But not yet.

It's long since dark when they reach the bunker, and Kevin is waiting for them in the library with takeout. He's so focused on whatever he's reading that he doesn't look up when they come in. Dean lets him stay ignorant for a moment, but Crowley isn't so courteous.

"Hello Kevin." He sounds a little too bright, as if he's forgotten how to work his vocal inflections.

Kevin whirls around and throws the first thing he can find at Crowley's head. Which happens to be the very heavy encyclopedia he was reading. Crowley barely ducks in time.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Kevin demands, seemingly scanning the room for another weapon.

"Calm down," Dean says, though he knows the strain is showing in his voice.

"Not until you explain what the King of Hell is doing here!" Kevin is nothing if not persistent.

"Not the King of Hell anymore, actually," Crowley points out. "More like... Well, I don't know. I suppose I could be anything."

"What's he talking about?" Kevin turns to Dean for answers.

"The third trial," Dean says. "Crowley's human now."

A look of pure relief settles over Kevin's face, and Dean wishes he could feel that good about anything. But it only takes a few seconds for Kevin to notice what else is out of place. "Then where's Sam? And what's with the new getup?" He directs the last question at Castiel who then looks at his new jeans and sweatshirt curiously.

No one seems to want to answer Kevin. He turns his gaze on all of them with no response. "Dean?" he says. "Where is Sam?" There's a fear in his tone that says he already knows the cost of the trials.

Dean doesn't look Kevin in they eye. "He's dead." And it's the first time he's said it out loud, the first time he's admitted Sam is gone and he couldn't save him.

But Dean doesn't have time to wallow in his own guilt, as he sees it quickly reflected in Kevin's face. Of course the kid had been the one who was so desperate to close the gates of Hell. But they had all wanted it. It was ultimately Sam's choice.

"I didn't know," Kevin says. "I thought..."

"We all did," Dean said. "Right up until the end."

"But he did it anyway? He knew it would kill him, and he did it anyway?"

Dean nods. It's the same thought that's been running over and over again in his mind since yesterday. Sam knew he would die. Sam willingly sacrificed his life for this. Even though Dean begged him not to. Even though they'd been fighting demons all their lives. Sam was done. He'd given up. Maybe that's an unfair assessment, but Dean always had seen things through the cloud of his own screwed up perspective. Maybe Sam is a hero, but all Dean has is a dead brother, hero or not, and that doesn't mean a lot to him.

Then Cas breaks the silence. "I think I have to use the bathroom."

And Dean suddenly realizes that there is far more to making someone human than new clothes and takeout. Great.

**~oOo~**

Dean's had plenty of awkward times in his life. It's only to be expected. Normally, he doesn't care, because his social skills consist of pickup lines and a winning smile. This is different. He's sitting at a table with his best friends and his worst enemy, and his brother is dead.

There have been so many days whose ends have not come soon enough, but this tops them all. Dean makes dinner for everyone because Kevin can't cook to save his life, and while Dean would just as soon have left Crowley to fend for himself, he needs to make sure Cas is okay. Some part of Dean has always felt responsible for the angel. Well, former angel.

He eats, but he doesn't remember having eaten. He sees his empty plate, but he doesn't register the lingering taste in his mouth or the feeling of being full. Cas offers to do the dishes, and Kevin follows Dean out into the hallway.

"There are only four rooms," he says.

Dean doesn't need an explanation. "I'll take care of it," he says.

"Dean?" It's easy to tell from Kevin's voice that he doesn't want to prolong this conversation, but he has something else to say.

"What?" Dean replies with less patience than he means to.

Kevin looks miserable. "I'm sorry," he says.

It's not what Dean wants to hear, but he knows Kevin's not just saying it as some formality. Sam meant a lot to him too. Dean's sure they had plenty of happy memories of geeky research sessions over the last year.

So, Dean nods because it's all he can muster. Kevin turns and heads back to the kitchen. Dean knows without him saying so that Kevin will look after the new humans for the moment. To give Dean some space.

It's not really space Dean needs. If he wants to stay alive that is, which he doesn't, but he should. Being alone, he can imagine no one needs him, that the world will go on without him, that he should be with Sam.

It only gets worse standing in Sam's bare room. There isn't much to pick up. A few pictures in a drawer, some of Sam's favorite books. The youngest Winchester never had many possessions. He didn't really know how to keep stuff because everything he ever had went away some how. There are a couple of notebooks Dean has never seen before, but he notices Sam's handwriting, so he puts them into the box he's taking out. He takes all of Sam's weapons and electronics as well. He'd figure out what to do with them all later. If he really looks at the stuff, he might just drive Sam's favorite knife into his skull right now. He doesn't want to leave that kind of mess for anyone to clean up.

It doesn't take long to make the room suitable for a new inhabitant. Sam had never really lived there. Sam had lived in old motels and the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean has always regretted never being able to give Sam the normal life he wanted. As long as he lives, Dean will regret it. That thought makes him realize how much he will have to regret if he stays among the living.

As Dean returns to his room for the first time since arriving at the bunker, he feels as if one weight on his shoulders is replaced by another. He feels the exhaustion that's been threatening to suffocate him for years return in full force. Only it's much worse. When he had Sam, he could push through it. Sure there had been tough times, moments when Dean thought of giving up, but he never actually did it. Now, he doesn't just feel like giving up. He thinks it's the right thing to do. He thinks it's the only thing to do.

Dean sets Sam's things on the floor at the foot of his bed, and he hears voices out in the hallway. Kevin is showing Cas and Crowley the bedrooms. Things are settling down, and Dean realizes that this isn't the end for him. Not yet. He has to push through a little longer because people need him. It's funny because Dean's always felt like he was the one who needed everyone else. He doesn't like them being dependent on him. But he can't change that now.

* * *

><p><strong>I almost forgot about this in the process of recovering from the trauma that was "Road Trip." As I upload this chapter, I'm listening to "Hymn for the Missing" by Red, which is a great song for Supernatural in general and especially this story.<strong>

**Oh, and thanks so much for the wonderful reviews!**


	3. A Lesson in Humanity

**It's Wednesday, and that means a new chapter! Thanks so much for all the feedback so far.**

**Chapter Three "A Lesson in Humanity"**

Castiel can't sleep. He doesn't know how. He's thinking about everything that went wrong, trusting in Metatron, Sam's death. It's all so much for anyone to deal with, and Castiel isn't used to feeling the same volume of emotions humans have. He knows he's tired, but he keeps turning over and over, and thinking about the fact that this was Sam's room, and Sam is dead, and if he had just realized it sooner, he might have been able to stop it.

And then Castiel thinks about Dean. He thinks about how much worse the elder Winchester must be feeling, and that makes him realize that Dean probably isn't sleeping either.

The dim lights in the hallway give an eerie feeling as Castiel walks slowly toward the main rooms. He's still not used to this clumsy body, but he manages to keep quiet enough that he won't wake anyone else. The real trouble is that the compound is so big, he soon gets lost. There are so many hallways and so many doors. Castiel discovers the archives, the dungeon, and numerous storage rooms. He doesn't find Dean though.

Perhaps his initial suspicion was invalid. Maybe Dean is in his room where he's supposed to be. Not that Castiel has any clue of how to get back there anyway.

After a while longer of searching, Castiel comes upon a room with a sign on the door that reads "Shooting Range." There are several rules beneath that about ear protection and so on that Castiel doesn't understand. However, that changes when he opened the door. The high decibels of gunfire compounded by the enclosed space make Castiel reach for the nearest set of noise canceling headphones hanging from hooks inside the door.

Dean is standing at the far end of the range, not wearing ear or eye protection, as the signs command. He's firing his gun one handed, repeatedly until the clip empties. He then replaces it with another from a pile of loaded magazines on the counter in front of him.

Castiel approaches slowly, not sure if Dean is aware of his presence or not. Dean fires another clip at the unseen target. When that one empties, he releases it and reaches for another. As it snaps into place, he holds the gun in front of him for a few seconds, just staring at it.

"You should be sleeping," he says without looking up.

"What?" Castiel replies, then remembers the headphones. He pulls them off and feels incredibly silly. "What did you say?"

Dean shakes his head. "Why are you here?" he asks.

"I couldn't sleep," Castiel replies truthfully. "Actually, it took me about an hour to find you. I... don't know my way around very well."

"You'll learn." Dean raises the gun at the target again.

Castiel hurriedly replaces the headphones. It seems that his human brain is more startled by loud noises. His angel mind was built for violence, but that is no longer the case.

Another clip gone, Dean finally relents and turns to face Castiel. Dean pulls the headphones off, rather roughly, as if the sight of them offends him.

"What do you want?" he asks, equally rough.

Castiel is a bit startled by his tone, though he shouldn't be. He's so used to Dean's moods, and this is not really that different. But Castiel feels different about it. "I didn't mean to bother you," he says, and for a moment, he thinks of leaving, though he's not sure where he will go next.

"If you're here to talk, you can forget about it," Dean says, moving to change clips again.

"What would we talk about?" Castiel asks, confused at the suggestion.

Dean shrugs. "Just thought that might be why you came."

"No. I honestly don't know why. I just couldn't sleep, and I doubted you could either."

"Why's that?"

"Me or you?"

"Either."

"Me, I don't know. It's new to me. You, well, your brother just died, and that's upsetting. Of course, it upsets me too, but certainly not in the same way. At least, I'm pretty sure. I'm new to all this."

"Cas, you're rambling."

"Sorry."

Dean shakes his head. "Never mind. You gotta work it all out. It'll take time."

"And you?"

"What?"

"Do you have to 'work it out'?" Castiel resists making air quotes with his fingers.

Dean hesitates. He seems to be thinking about that answer an awful lot. "Sure, I guess."

Castiel tilts his head to the side like he always does when he's curious. It happens a lot around Dean. "I don't know what that means," he says.

"Neither to I, Cas."

Castiel nods. "You should sleep. Apparently, it's necessary for humans."

Dean gives Castiel a weak smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he says, but he doesn't move from his place.

"Can you at least help me find my way back?" It's a rather pathetic request, but Castiel doesn't want to spend the night wandering the halls alone. And he doesn't want to leave Dean here with his guns and his grief. For some reason, it seems dangerous.

Dean agrees, reluctantly, to show Castiel back to the bedrooms. They walk in silence, but it isn't like all the other times they've spent in silence. Before, things were often so effortless between them. Castiel always knew he could trust Dean, and that was enough. Now, he doesn't understand half of the new emotions being thrown his way. There's fear and grief and something else he's not really sure of. Something to do with the thought that Dean might give up and join his brother. There are no words to put to this feeling, only that it resembles fear the way an angel sculpture resembles the real thing.

**~oOo~**

As they reach Sam's-no, Cas' doorway, Dean stops. He doesn't know why, but he suddenly feels like he's failing again. It's a familiar feeling, so he's not sure why it hits him so hard this time.

"Cas?" he says, quietly so as not to wake anyone.

"Yes, Dean?" his friend replies.

"I'm... sorry, I guess. I haven't been much help."

Cas looks at him with the curious expression that never seems to leave his face. "You have other concerns."

Dean shakes his head. "I can't bring Sam back. If I could, I'd be out there doing whatever it takes. Sam's gone. But you're still here, and let's face it, you need my help."

"That much is true," Cas concedes. "But I understand there is a process? When someone you love dies, I mean."

Dean doesn't want to talk about it. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but this is Cas, and he's the only reason Dean is even bothering to stay alive anymore.

"Yeah, there is," he says. "I've never been very good at it though."

"Is anyone?"

"Guess not."

"There's nothing I can say, is there? Words don't make it better."

"No. Nothing makes it better. You've lost people, haven't you, Cas?"

Cas shakes his head. "Never like you have."

Dean isn't sure what that means. Has Cas never lost anyone that close to him, or has he never felt it before because he was an angel? Or both. Dean doesn't want to know. He wants to believe that Cas is fine. Humanity isn't that hard. Except it is, as Dean knows from extensive personal experience. Being human is nearly impossible. It's easier to be a monster or a drone.

Dean wishes he could keep lying to himself, but it seems as if Sam's death has brought on a certain sense of painful clarity. He can see everything he has to do now, and it's not a one time job like the rest of his life seems to have been. He's in it for the lifetime now. As long as Cas is alive, and Crowley for that matter, Dean has to stick around and look after them.

Which is surprising because Dean has always thought that his obsession with protecting Sam came from a need to please his father, but this has nothing to do with that. This is all Dean. He has to protect people because he just does. There's no reasonable explanation he can think of, and it's irritating as hell because he doesn't want to be this way. It might be a good thing, but he doesn't want it all the same. Because it only ever ends badly.

Dean goes to bed, and he sleeps hard because it's been days. When he wakes, nothing's changed. Sam's still dead, and Cas still needs to eat. Kevin picks up the slack, and Crowley talks far too much. This is their life now. Team Free Will, the Men of Letters, whatever the hell they are. They aren't family anymore. Dean is so far beyond that now. He'll give everything he's got until the day he dies, but he doesn't mean it. Maybe he never has. Just going through the motions.


	4. The New Normal

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reading, and especially those who have reviewed. I really appreciate it. It has come to my attention that the sort of thing you use to load a semi-automatic handgun is called a magazine, not a clip, and the two words are not interchangeable the way I used them in chapter three. I will not be making that mistake again, should it ever come up.**

**Chapter Four "The New Normal"**

When Dean does sleep, he relives the last time he saw his brother. He sees Sam standing over Crowley, ready to give up his life for some stupid cause. The cause they've been fighting for all their lives. And Dean knows it's hypocritical of him because he would do it in a heartbeat, but he begs Sam not to. He hears his own voice breaking, and it cuts into his heart all over again. The last words he says to Sam almost make him want to laugh:

"Don't you dare think that there is anything past or present that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that. I need you to see that. I'm begging you."

He looks Sam in the eye, and he sees; he knows-it doesn't change a damn thing. Because Sam is tired of doing everything halfway. If he stops now, he's not just giving up on his own mission; he's letting Dean down too. And Dean knows it. He can't stop Sam because Sam is doing this for him. Nothing comes between a Winchester and his brother. Even said brother himself.

Sam closes his hand over Crowley's mouth, and Dean is screaming at him to stop. It's too late. It's over. It's always been over for them. They were born cursed, and all their fighting fate has done nothing to change that. It's only put off the inevitable end.

If only it truly were the end.

Because Dean always wakes up and realizes that this is his life now. That Sam died because he didn't want to let him down, and Dean can't just curl up and die too.

But Dean sure thinks about it when he remembers the way Sam's body convulsed on the floor, the way he didn't say a word as his eyes closed for the last time. He thinks about it when he looks at the wall of weapons decorating his room. He thinks about it when he slices tomatoes because he always keeps the kitchen knives sharp enough to slice a jugular vein in one smooth motion.

Then he thinks about Cas, and he doesn't ever go through with his contemplations.

But life doesn't get back to normal. There is no more normal. Dean gets up in the morning, and he has no idea what he's going to do. He doesn't take or look for new cases. He works on his car and wastes ammunition at the shooting range. He fixes meals for everyone else because Kevin's cooking skills are limited to hot dogs and microwave dinners.

Dean is organizing the library one day as Crowley reads in a chair in the corner. Kevin has a tendency to leave books lying around, and Dean can't seem to help himself when it comes to cleaning. Dean is just noticing that the shelves could use some dusting, when Crowley loudly closes his book and clears his throat.

"You know, I'm beginning to notice a pattern," he says.

Dean's had a feeling this was coming.

"You're everybody's mother, aren't you?"

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. "What'd you say?" he asks.

"You cook and clean and chaperone. You do everything for everyone. There's just one thing that concerns me. Well, it doesn't concern me, but it should concern you."

Dean turns from the shelves to face Crowley. "What's that?"

"What happens when you die? On the job or of old age-which is highly unlikely, but hypothetically. You'll leave behind a former angel who can't even tie his own shoes. He won't survive without you."

"What's your point?"

"Teach the man to boil an egg! He wants to know how to take care of himself, but he doesn't want to ask. He just lets you do everything for him because you're so desperate to be needed."

"You think I want this? I'd give anything if Cas _didn't_ need me anymore."

Crowley smiles. "No you wouldn't. You think you would because it would let you die with a clear conscience, but you know that isn't what Sam would have wanted."

"Shut up."

Crowley stands and drops the book on the end table beside him. "If you want your life-_Sam's sacrifice_-to mean anything, then you have to make the best of what you have. Teach Castiel to be human. Start hunting again."

Dean shakes his head. "What do you care?"

"Me? Not a bit. Can't stand the traitor. But it matters to you, and you _are_ my reluctant benefactor. It's not as if I have a place in this world either."

"It's me then? You think you can _help_?"

"I think I have to try."

"Save it. I don't need you telling me how to live what's left of my life."

"Contrary to what you might think, I do know what it means to be human. I've lived that life before. I never wanted a second chance, but I'll be damned if I'm going to muck it up."

"That's nice for you, I guess. But let me remind you that the only reason I didn't shoot you is because Sam died saving you. That's it."

Crowley angles his head to the side in concession. "Then I have a better suggestion."

"Do I want to know?"

"Take me hunting."

"What?" Of all the unexpected things Crowley says this is the height of insanity.

Crowley's reply is nonchalant. "You know I'd be good at it. And you need to get out of this bomb shelter worse than I do."

Dean shakes his head. "That's not happening."

"Why not?" Crowley raises his eyebrows, daring Dean to answer.

Dean pauses, trying to think of a logical reason, but finding none. "Because I said so," he replies, turning and leaving the room before Crowley can argue further.

Dean can't believe he's treating Crowley the same way he treated Sam on occasion. This isn't happening. Crowley isn't replacing Sam. He's not going to be a hunter. Dean isn't even sure if he's still a hunter himself. If there's much of anything to hunt out there anyway.

**~oOo~**

Three days later, Dean packs up the Impala and prepares to leave the bunker. Kevin found a case. Kids going missing. Of all the things to get Dean back in the field, this has to be it. And it's not a one man job. Kevin is more tech support on missions, and Cas is still too socially awkward, and just plain awkward in general, to accomplish much.

Dean's not admitting Crowley was right. He's not. Never happening. But right now, the only person available is the former King of Hell, and Dean just has to deal with it. It's enough that the bastard is sitting in the passenger seat all smug and satisfied with himself.

If Dean were being objective, he would admit that it makes sense. Crowley looks a hell of a lot more like an FBI agent than Sam ever did. And he can certainly hold his own in a fight. It's not until they reach the scene that Dean realizes Crowley can also do an impressive American accent. Dean should really be happy that Crowley is a natural, but he doesn't like the way the other man takes charge without asking. Of course, that makes sense too. Crowley looks older, and to be fair, he's got a few centuries on Dean. At least in public, it should appear that he's in control.

Dean does not like this one bit.

Add to that the complete lack of evidence on the case, and Dean begins to regret ever leaving the bunker. He knows he didn't really think this through. Going on the road with someone is more than having to work together. It's being in each other's space 24/7, and with Sam that was one thing. Crowley is a completely different story.

For one thing, the guy complains about everything from Dean's choice of food to motels to the way he walks.

"You don't move like a Fed," Crowley says after their first meeting with local law enforcement.

"That's because I'm not," Dean replies, not bothering to come up with a better argument.

"But they don't know that. At least, they're not supposed to."

Dean stops beside the Impala and faces Crowley. "Something you need to understand: we never stay one place long enough for it to matter."

Crowley tilts his head slightly. "Your colorful criminal record would suggest that it does, in fact, matter."

Dean shouldn't be surprised that Crowley knows about all that, but he hadn't expected it to come up.

"Isn't part of being a hunter the ability to remain invisible?" Crowley continues. "You succeed because no one knows you're there."

"Look, I've been doing this my whole life, I think I know how to talk to a few cops."

"As evidenced by your frequent brushes with the law in the past."

"Hazard of the job."

"I am merely suggesting small improvements to make your life easier. There's no need to be defensive."

"Yeah, well, save your suggestions. I never asked."

Crowley falls into silence as they get into the car and drive off. It's a small argument compared to some others they've had, but it doesn't sit well with Dean. He tries not to think of all the years he hunted with Sam and how seamless it was. He'd never expected to have to break in a new guy. Or that the new guy would be trying to break _him_ in.

**~oOo~**

It's two a.m., and Dean can't sleep. Mostly because Crowley is either awake and complaining or asleep and snoring. But there are other reasons. It's being away from home for the first time since... everything. It's the fact that Sam isn't here. It's worry.

The most pressing thought on Dean's mind is whether Cas is okay. If he's eating and sleeping all right. If his humanity is beginning to overwhelm him. And while Dean worries about Cas, he worries about himself. He thinks that he may not make it home this time. That being away might give him the distance and opportunity to end it all, and there's a growing knot in his stomach the more he thinks about it. Because Cas needs him, but he may not be there like he should be.

Dean still has the almost overpowering desire to die, but he also needs to live. Leaving Cas now would be so much worse than what Sam did to him. Of course, he tacks Kevin and Crowley onto that sentiment, but if he's honest, Dean will admit that Cas is the only thing holding him here.

Only, he's not here right now. Cas is three states away, and Dean hadn't really considered until now how bad of an idea that is. It's not about wanting to be with his friend, because Dean would rather be alone. It's about needing to stay close to his lifeline. Because he'll let go-he knows he will-if he gets too far.

And even though it's two a.m., Dean leaves the hotel room and dials Cas. It's stupid, he knows, but it's all he can do to keep from wandering out into the nearby highway traffic.

It only takes a couple of rings before an answer comes. "Dean?" Cas sounds worried.

"Hey..." Dean doesn't even know what he's going to say; this is ridiculous.

"Are you okay?"

It's the fear in Cas' voice that reminds Dean of his situation. "Yeah, no, I'm fine," he says. "I just, um..."

"Can't sleep?" Cas wonders.

"Something like that."

"You're thinking about Sam."

It makes sense, but it's not entirely accurate. "Kind of." Dean leans against the side of the building and notices how cold it is as his breath floats over the air in front of him.

Cas doesn't say anything. He waits. Dean can hear him breathing, and that's good enough.

"I just wanted to check in." Dean tries to recover some semblance of normalcy. Poorly.

"We're okay." Cas pauses. "I'm okay," he amends. He must know that's what Dean really cares about.

"Yeah, good." Dean lets his head fall back and breaths a sigh. "Sorry I called so late."

"I was just trying to fall asleep. Kevin suggested reading, but that doesn't help. How do you do it?"

"Sleep?" Dean is grateful to be talking about something kind of normal. "I don't know. I've been doing it all my life. Just have to get tired enough, I suppose."

"Perhaps it's my inactivity that is giving me problems."'

"You could take up Yoga or something."

"I'll look into it."

Dean laughs. Not a real, deep laugh, but it's more than he's done in a long time. It reminds him of when things were good between him and Cas. Before the Leviathans. Before Purgatory and Naomi and Metatron.

Cas doesn't seem to understand, but he laughs too. "How are things with Crowley?" he asks.

Dean would rather not talk about it, but he does just to keep the conversation going. "He whines about everything. And he snores. Other than that, it's okay, I guess."

"Not like it was."

"Yeah, well, nothing's ever gonna be like that. This is temporary."

"How temporary." Dean gets the feeling Cas is talking about something else entirely.

"As long as it's necessary." Crowley, life in general, it doesn't matter to Dean. He means it both ways.

"Be careful. I wish I could be there."

"You just focus on being human for a while. Then we'll talk about field trips."

"I know I'm a terrible hunter."

"Ah, you can learn." Dean believes it because he has to.

"I hope so."

And Dean gets the full weight of Cas' meaning. He knows. He knows Dean needs him out here because it's just too easy to find ways to die with nothing stopping him. In his own way, Cas is telling Dean to hang on. He's begging him not to go because they need each other. Not that they want to, but that's just the way of things right now.

Dean can't wait to get back. He can't wait to take that load off for a while again.

He clears his throat. "I should go," he says. "Thanks, Cas."

"For what?" Cas replies.

"Nothing, just... I'll see you in a few days."

It might as well be an eternity with the way Dean feels as he hangs up. He doesn't know how he's going to make it long enough to get home. He prays to no one on particular that he will.


	5. Things Left Unsaid

**Chapter Five "Things Left Unsaid"**

Turns out, it's angels, and there's nothing Dean and Crowley can do to stop them. Why they're taking children as vessels is beyond Dean's capacity to grasp, but that's what it comes down to. Seven kids altogether. They'll never go home.

Dean isn't accustomed to letting these things go, but he does it so easily that it scares him. He's not sure if he wants to get home that badly, or if he just doesn't care who gets hurt anymore as long as it's no one who matters to him. Because everyone he cares about gets hurt in the end, so maybe he should just stop caring.

Except he can't. He thinks about those kids all the way home. It's a day's drive, and Dean is tired, but he can't turn his mind off. Crowley offers to drive for a while, and Dean makes the perfectly valid excuse that no former demon is going to drive his Baby. Truthfully, he just needs something to focus on besides his thoughts. A four lane interstate stretching straight out into the horizon isn't much, but it will do for the moment.

It's late when they reach the bunker once again. Kevin is already asleep, but Cas is waiting in the library, frowning in confusion at whatever he's reading. He looks up when Dean and Crowley come in. Crowley disappears down the hallway without a word, and Dean doesn't bother wondering why. Instead he throws his jacket over the back of a chair and sits down across from Cas.

The former angel seems to have given up on the book, which happens to be _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_.

"Not your reading level?" Dean asks with a smirk.

"Yes," Cas replies, still frowning. "Though I'm not certain what that means."

"I don't think that one is supposed to make any sense, if that helps."

"Have you read it?"

"No... maybe. I can't remember."

Cas tilts his head in that signature expression of curiosity and fascination. "You don't read a lot."

"Nope."

"Then wouldn't it be easier to remember what you have read?"

"That's another thing you're gonna have to learn about being human. We forget a lot more than we remember."

"Funny... Well, not funny, but interesting. It doesn't seem as if humans can easily forget the bad things. Why is that?"

Dean shakes his head. "I don't know, Cas... Sam used to remember a lot of good things. Stuff from when we were kids that I'd forgotten about. He was good at that." He hadn't meant to say any of that, but now he has, and he can't take it back.

"So it's not a universal human trait to only remember tragedy?" Cas asks.

Dean shrugs. "I guess not."

"That's good. I wonder which way I'll go. I used to remember everything."

"Maybe you still will. Some people are like that."

Cas shakes his head. "I'm already forgetting. Distant things. Thousands of years ago."

"That's not so bad."

"No. I don't imagine I'll need to know how the world began to be a successful human."

Dean feels a strangely foreign tickle of laughter in his throat. "Cas, if you can figure out how to be a successful human, you'll be the richest man alive."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone wants to know. What's the meaning of life? Why are we here? What does it matter anyway?" Dean says the last part with a hint of bitterness.

"It matters," Cas replies with conviction. And suddenly, they aren't talking in hypotheticals anymore.

Dean doesn't say anything. He knows what Cas means. He knows his reasons for calling the other night are perfectly clear. He can see that Cas has been waiting for this opportunity, thinking about what he's going to say to make Dean stay. He doesn't have to say anything.

"Why is it," Cas begins slowly, as if still formulating the sentence in his head, "that your life is only worth what you do for other people?"

Dean lets out a rapid breath. "Isn't that all anyone's life is worth?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure you do."

Cas frowns, frustrated. "You're not normally evasive. Not like this."

"Hasn't really been my week, you know?"

Cas nods, but he still appears to be deep in thought. "Why do I matter?"

Dean doesn't make eye contact. "I don't know. I just... I'm not gonna bail on you, Cas. Not ever."

Cas catches Dean's gaze. "But you want to." His eyes look like they could cut into Dean's soul right about now. But then, they always look like that.

Dean looks down at his hands. He thinks about all the scars and where he got them, and how Sam was there for most of them. "Doesn't matter," he says. "You know why I called you."

"Yes." Cas keeps staring. "If it helps you to continue doing so, I don't mind."

Dean shakes his head. "I didn't think it would be like that."

"Why would you?"

"It's the distance is all. I get far enough away, and I... I don't know. I start to think I can let go."

"That's why you want me to come with you?"

"I don't know if I'll be going again any time soon. This little trip didn't turn out so well."

"Dean, you have to." That sense of conviction is back, and it's hard to argue with Cas when he gets like this. "You're a hunter. You always will be."

Dean looks up at Cas again. "Sooner or later, I'll be a dead hunter. I'm thinking you'd rather it weren't sooner."

"We're all going to die." Cas says it as if he's just realized his own mortality. "I think what matters is how."

Dean nods. "And I'm not gonna die giving up." It's hard enough to push those words past his lips, but the way Cas looks at him only makes it worse.

"Where is the end to your resolve?" he asks. He's got that fascinated head tilt going on again. One of the first expressions he'd ever given Dean when he wondered why Dean didn't believe he deserved to be saved.

"Don't know if there is one," Dean replied. "I've come close, but I never found it yet." And that should be encouraging. Dean has wanted to give up many times, but he never has. He should be proud of that. But he's not. He's still just as miserable as before.

"I always thought there had to be a limit." Cas leans back in his chair a little, getting that philosophical tone in his voice. "That human suffering could only go on so long. That eventually, everyone would break. I'm not sure which is worse."

"I don't know," Dean says. He's never been that curious to find out either. "Maybe free will is a thing. Maybe if we keep pushing forward we'll never stop. I've died before, and that didn't stop me."

"Then what stopped Sam?"

It's a question Dean doesn't want to answer. Doesn't even want to think about. But it's there between them, and something in Dean knows that he has to talk to Cas about this. "He gave in. He saw that he was beat, and he died. Not saying there's any shame in dying for a good cause, but it doesn't sit well. I can't... I can't believe my life could ever come to that. When I die, it will be alone and no one will miss me because I'm not dying until everyone who matters is gone."

"That is an impossible weight to carry. We can't live like that."

Dean emits a sound like a laugh that isn't a laugh. "Better than dying like that."

**~oOo~**

It's a week after Dean and Crowley returned, and they haven't left since. Dean goes into town for supplies from time to time. Kevin keeps working on the angel tablet, and Cas tries to help him however he can. Crowley mostly complains.

Dean is in the garage working on his car, which isn't necessary, but it's something to do other than wasting ammunition, and it keeps his mind occupied. He tries not to think about how he should be out there working. He can't do it right now. It's too much. He's tied to this place, teaching Cas to use the toaster and run the vacuum cleaner. Thankfully, Cas is a quick study. He's like a child soaking up information from all around him. Sometimes he forgets things, but he never forgets them twice. He still has trouble with cooking, but it will come.

But Dean knows that's not the issue. That there's a disconnect between him and Cas because they're not fighting together anymore. Dean's always been in the position of protector, but never for someone who seems so helpless, never for someone he can't leave for 24 hours without wanting to kill himself. Well, he wants to kill himself anyway, but Cas makes the impulse bearable. Being away is like being drunk. Dean loses any sense of inhibition he might have. It scares him. At lot of things scare him lately.

He doesn't know what time of day it is, not that it matters underground, but eventually Crowley finds him in the garage. Dean has begun to get used to sharing his living space with someone he used to hate. He's still not sure what the ex-demon is playing at, but Dean is responsible for him regardless.

Which doesn't make him any less annoying.

"Had a feeling you'd be hereabouts," Crowley says, looking around the vast room full of different vehicles.

"You need something?" Dean asks, still focused on the Impala's spark plugs.

"I am utterly starved of intelligent conversation."

"Came to the wrong place then, buddy."

"But you're amusing," Crowley amends. He walks around to the side of the Impala and peers under the hood, looking confused by the whole thing. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Checking spark plugs."

Crowley frowns curiously. "Didn't you replace those recently?"

Dean doesn't reply, but he knows he can't hide the guilty look on his face.

"Trying to keep busy. I understand. You know, there are other things." Crowley gets this hopeful gleam in his eyes, like he's trying to ask for something without asking.

Dean stands up straight and closes the hood with a loud thunk. Crowley raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Dean wipes his hands off on a nearby rag and goes back to the tool chest, looking for a tire pressure gauge.

Crowley sighs, apparently fed up with waiting for a response. "You can't just sulk down here while the world goes on out there."

"Watch me," Dean replies, not bothering to give Crowley the death glare he doesn't have the energy for right now.

"So this is it then?" Crowley actually sounds surprised. "No period of horrific violence in the wake of your brother's death?"

Dean gives up looking for the tire pressure gauge and turns to face Crowley. "Well... that was always more Sam's thing than mine," he says. He doesn't know why. He just can't keep that stuff in anymore.

Crowley closes his mouth, and his eyes turn thoughtful for a moment. "And you're more for the lethargic depression?" he asks, but it's not really a question. "In which case, you know that the only way out of it is to get back on the horse."

Dean shakes his head. "I'm not leaving again."

"What was it?" Crowley is intent now. "Why was it so bad? As far as jobs go, I'm certain our first was unremarkable as they come."

"Not the point." Dean turns back to the tool chest before he remembers that he doesn't have any reason to.

"Then what is it? Too much time away from your boyfriend?" And that sounds like old Crowley.

Dean slams the lid closed and feels the impact reverberating through his hands. He thinks that must be why it feels as if he's shaking. "It's dangerous," he says.

And he leaves Crowley standing there, wondering what's so dangerous because there's no way Dean is explaining this to him. Not this. Some things, Dean has to keep to himself. He hasn't even really said it in so many words to Cas. He wants to die. Still. It's not getting any better. It never will.

* * *

><p><strong>I've realized that not much has been actually happening in the last few chapters, but that's all about to change. I think I've finally hit my stride with this story, and I've got some great ideas in store, so stick around. As always, let me know what you're thinking. I'm always open to suggestions and whatever thoughts you may have.<strong>

**Also, writing Crowley is more fun than should be legal.**

**Finally, last night's episode. I can't. Just... no. Sam... Dean... *sighs***


	6. Some Things Never Change

**Chapter Six "Some Things Never Change"**

People tell Castiel that he's learning fast. Mostly Kevin, actually, because Dean doesn't do much talking at all lately. The silence is still unnerving; it's not their usual silence. Crowley, on the other hand, talks incessantly, but he never says anything nice to Castiel. So Kevin remains his sole source of encouragement.

Castiel begins to wonder if the young prophet isn't much stronger than he looks. There are moments when Kevin thinks no one's looking that the grief shows on his face, but he hides it quickly. Castiel isn't sure if anyone else has noticed. Crowley probably has, but he doesn't care, and Dean has too much on his mind to really see anyone else's pain. Rightfully so.

At first, the lessons seem arbitrary. Things like how to use a broom and how to turn on the washing machine don't seem that important until Castiel realizes how quickly things become dirty for humans. Then he can't stop seeing dirt everywhere. Kevin accuses him of being more obsessive compulsive than Dean. Whatever that means.

The stove still frightens him. As an angel, he never had to worry about getting burned, but once is enough to know why humans describe it as the worst sort of pain. Dean tells him to put aloe on his fingers where he touched the outside of a saucepan on accident. It does help. So, Castiel learns about medicine too.

None of this helps him sleep, and he's beginning to think it has nothing to do with being new at it, but rather some kind of stress. Dean keeps saying it will come, but Castiel is doubtful. Perhaps he cannot sleep because the guilt keeps him awake. Or that feeling so like fear that he can almost name it. And when he does manage to sleep a few hours, Castiel sees things. He knows these are dreams, but they feel so much more real than what he's seen of other people's dreams. When he's in them, he sees himself executing hundreds of angels. He sees the times he killed imaginary Deans over and over again. He sees Sam lying on a wooden floor, eyes vacant in death. He doesn't know why he sees the last one.

Castiel doesn't tell Dean about the dreams or the guilt he feels. It would only add to the enormous burden his friend already carries. And that is a problem in itself, for Castiel has no idea how to help Dean. Or if he can at all.

It all made so much more sense when they knew what they were fighting for. When they knew where they stood with each other and there were no secrets between them.

The worst thing, worse than the nightmares or not sleeping at all, is when Castiel hears Dean's voice in the middle of the night. He realizes early on that his room is the closest to Dean's, and the others can't hear him. But Castiel hears too clearly. At first, it's just random muttering, as if he's talking in his sleep, but then it gets more specific. Then one night Dean shouts his brother's name so loud that Castiel is out of bed and running down the hall before he realizes that he's awake.

Dean is awake too. He hardly looks like he's slept, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. But there's a thick sheen of sweat coating his face. It soaks into his shirt, and it the dark, it looks as if he's bleeding from everywhere. He stares at the wall, not acknowledging Castiel's presence. His breathing comes in heavy gulps as if he can't get enough air no matter how hard he tries.

There are no tears, but a redness around Dean's eyes that means the same thing. Castiel is wondering what if feels like to cry when he realizes that he already knows. He feels the strangling tightness in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes. He doesn't know why it's coming now. Why not before?

It takes Dean a long time to catch his breath, and when he does, he stands up and goes into the bathroom, closing the door with the precise amount of force that tells Castiel the moment is over. So, Castiel goes back to his own room, but he gets no more sleep. His mind is stuck on this need to do something, anything, to ease the pain his friend suffers every moment. But there is nothing he can do.

Nothing ever changes. A month goes by. Then two. Castiel knows how to work the stove now. He tries to help Kevin interpret the angel tablet. He tries to get along with Crowley. He tries to think of any possible way to make Dean smile again, even halfway. None of his efforts is particularly effective.

Then, one afternoon, Dean goes out for groceries and he doesn't come back, and Castiel's first thought is that it all finally got to be too much, and he wasn't enough to keep Dean going. He failed. He let his friend die alone. And he weeps in earnest now because it seems the only proper thing to do.

**~oOo~**

Looking up at the metal loops in the wall, and the chains attached to them, and his wrists attached to those chains, Dean thinks maybe he should have sent someone else to do the shopping. He'd been genuinely surprised when the girl in the produce section started flirting with him. Not that he hadn't always been good looking, but he wasn't anywhere near the top of his game lately. That should have been the first red flag, but Dean was too distracted to care. She said her name was April, and that made Dean think of May, which comes after April, which was the month his brother died. He wondered if he'd ever see another April, and he figured this one was as good as any.

He really should have been suspicious of a nice looking girl picking up a guy in a supermarket. It didn't make any sense. But since nothing really made sense to Dean anymore, he dismissed it.

Only when his vision started getting fuzzy after his second drink, did Dean start to think this might be a trap. Too late. Much too late.

So, now he's chained to a wall God knows where, and he's pretty sure he knows why. Because he's heard them talking. They're angels, and that April chick was a rogue reaper. Dean is bait. Which is new for him because he's usually the one being baited, but that's really beside the point. The angels want Cas. For revenge. For kicks. It doesn't matter. They can't get him because that would be the end of everything. Cas is the center of all this. If he dies...

It's with no small measure of dismay that Dean realizes his friend is now under the care of one scatterbrained genius and one former demon who happens to hate his guts. Dean really wishes he had spent more time trying to sort things out between Cas and Crowley, but he was too busy being annoyed by the fact that it was even an issue.

The room he's in is small, but clean. It looks new too because the floor is concrete, but the walls are finished and painted some pale, salmon color that makes Dean want to throw up just looking at them. There's one bare light bulb overhead and a door at each end of the room to Dean's right and left. Occasionally someone will pass through, but no matter what Dean says, they never give him a second look. He's not important. He's just part of the trap.

He wishes they would kill him and get it over with, but he knows they won't do that until they have Cas. Dean will have to see his best friend die before he will be relieved. Having the end in sight almost makes Dean feel better. He might actually be happy if this scenario didn't involve an undoubtedly painful death for Cas. At least he's human now. He won't last as long as an angel would.

Yet, there is a part of Dean-a strong part, if he's being honest-that hates the thought of giving in and taking this. That part of him wants to fight, wants to take as many of these sons of bitches down with him as he can. If he's gonna die, he's gonna do it with a bang, not a whimper. That's just who he is, Sam or no Sam, and it's a funny realization. That there is one thing they can never take away from him.

**~oOo~**

Kevin is thinking about Kipling. That line about keeping your head when all about you are losing theirs. Sometimes-okay all the time-Kevin misses studying poetry and biology and algebra. Those things made so much more sense than this does.

But the first thing Kevin knows about their current situation is that Dean did not abandon them. He doesn't know how he knows it because he's seen the pain written on the man's face ever since he met him really, and worse since Sam died. Kevin's done his best to pick up the slack, to help out however he can. He's always known there was nothing he could do for Dean on an emotional level. Whatever it was he had with Sam was something no one could understand, much less offer any consolation in light of its loss.

Still, Kevin knows Dean would not leave them like this. Because Dean made promises. He said he'd always look out for Kevin. He said he wouldn't abandon them. So, something else must have happened, and that's not a comforting thought, but Kevin is running with it because it's all he has to hang onto. He knows he can't do this alone. He can't keep Cas safe or Crowley in line. He's just a kid, really. They all need Dean. But until he comes back, Kevin will keep his head. He owes it to the man who treated him like family when he had no obligation to.

It doesn't help when Cas and Crowley start bickering like a cat and dog, and Kevin isn't sure which is which. When Dean was there, he created a buffer between the two former enemies. Right now, though, Kevin isn't sure how appropriate the adjective "former" is. Eventually, he sticks in some earbuds and listens to the sort of music Dean likes to drown them out while he works.

It's slow going, hacking into traffic camera feeds and following Dean's trail. He's already been gone 24 hours. But Kevin keeps working even as he sees Cas begin to believe that Dean is dead or that blank look in Crowley's eyes that means he's trying to act like he doesn't care. But they all care. If there's anything in this world that matters to every one of them, it's Dean.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think of the direction the story is going. I can promise some intense chapters coming up and more action, which I've been missing up until now.<strong>


	7. An Even Trade

**Chapter Seven "An Even Trade"**

"You know, the fact that you two are human now means I can shoot you, and you'll shut up."

Kevin is rewarded by a sharp silence. It's not as if he would carry out his threat. He can't even fire a gun, much less hit anything with it. Dean had tried to teach him once, but it didn't go well. Still, the sudden interjection into the constant chatter achieves the desired effect. Cas and Crowley stare at Kevin expectantly, and perhaps a little worried.

"I'm almost into the security cameras, so can you just be quiet for two seconds, and we'll figure out what's going on?"

"What's the point?" Cas says. He speaks in the most pathetic, defeated tone that Kevin almost feels sorry for him. Until he remembers that no one else will give him the same consideration.

"Stop acting like this is already over," Kevin says. "Dean's never given up on any of us, so we're not gonna give up on him. Now sit down, and shut up until I tell you to do something."

Crowley is a bit less compliant, but Cas is almost too obedient. Kevin can't keep thinking about how the former angel has already given up. Dean must be in some kind of trouble, and they're all going to have to be on top of things if they're going to help him.

The silence lasts long enough for Kevin to finish hacking into the camera feeds of the supermarket and surrounding traffic cameras. He searches the footage for the proper time when Dean might have been there, and he is rewarded by the familiar sight of the Impala.

"There!" Kevin exclaims. "Told you!" He feels a bit like a child now, but compared to the others, he kind of still is.

"Can I talk now?" Crowley says.

"Is it possible to stop you?" Kevin snarks back.

Crowley ignores it. "Assuming you've found our missing Winchester, are you able to determine his current location?"

After a few keystrokes, Kevin realizes that's a negative. "No," he says, deflating slightly. "He goes into a bar with this girl, and he never comes out. Which is impossible because he can't have been in there for two days."

"Angels." Cas says, suddenly standing.

"What?" Crowley replies, looking up at him with a bored expression.

Cas moves around the table to get a look at Kevin's computer screen. "Where's the girl? What did she look like?"

Kevin pulls up the best view of the girl in the supermarket parking lot.

Cas shakes his head. "She can't be an angel because Dean's warded, but she could be something else."

"Something like...?" Crowley says.

"There are a lot of things that can track humans, mostly likely a rogue reaper. They're easily bought."

"But why?" Kevin says, still not putting the pieces together. What could the angels want with Dean now?

"Me." It's almost as if Cas read Kevin's mind.

Then he does put it together. "Because you were part of the spell that locked Heaven. They're using Dean to get to you?"

"Know what that means?" Crowley asks with a glint in his eyes, but Kevin and Cas just look at him in confusion. "Dean's still alive."

The thought sends a thrill of hope reverberating throughout the whole room it seems. But Kevin still has misgivings.

"That doesn't tell us how to find him."

"It's quite simple really," Cas says in that same defeated voice. "We trade."

The thought of giving Cas to those crazy bastards, even to save Dean's life seems every level of wrong in Kevin's mind.

"Well, there is one other option," Crowley says, almost lazily.

"What's that?" Cas replies with obvious skepticism.

"A simple location spell would be the start to a good rescue."

Kevin glares at Crowley, not sure if he hates him more now than he ever did before. "Why didn't you say so?"

"When we thought he was dead, the whole thing would just have blown up in our faces and confirmed what we already knew. I thought it best to wait and see what you came up with. It was always possible he was alive somewhere, but I didn't want to find out he wasn't that way."

"It would have saved us a lot of time," Cas says.

"And you would have said it didn't matter because you thought he was dead too. Can we move on? All we need are some basic ingredients, which should be easy to find in this place, and something of Dean's like hair. So, you check the shower drain, and I'll get the rest."

Crowley leaves the room with a bit of a spring in his step as if he's actually looking forward to this, and Kevin suggests that Cas try Dean's comb first.

**~oOo~**

It is a point of personal pride for Crowley that he manages to maintain a somewhat carefree facade in the face of his current situation. There is the small matter of bickering with the bloody angel, but it's not as if he would actually do anything to Castiel now. It would be at cross purposes with what seems to be everyone's objective—namely, keeping Dean alive. Crowley is clever enough to have realized that it is the angel alone, not Kevin, and certainly not himself, that keeps Dean from becoming rather more reckless than is strictly speaking healthy.

Crowley had hit on the issue some weeks before in the garage. Not that he or Dean had said so in so many words, nor ever would, but it was clear enough. Which makes things all the more complicated seeing as the angels want Castiel dead, and it has suddenly become Crowley's job to ensure they don't succeed because Dean was stupid enough to get himself captured. Which is one thing Crowley is certainly not calm about, whatever his more public attitude may indicate. Dean cannot die, and because of that, neither can Castiel. Which makes the angels' inevitable move to trade one for the other a problem to which Crowley sees one answer. And it's an answer he likes because the sheer backstabbing nature of it makes him feel like his old self again. He knows it will be difficult to convince Kevin, though Castiel will probably agree too quickly because he's only thinking about saving Dean, to the point of offering to sacrifice himself. Crowley will never admit that he almost stopped hating the former angel at that point.

After gathering the supplies he needs for a location spell, Crowley returns to the library where Castiel has already returned, holding a few light hairs in the palm of his hand as if they're alive.

"Excellent," Crowley says, just to keep up the ruse that he's completely unperturbed by any of this. He sets up the map and begins to mix the other items. At some point, Castiel reluctantly drops the hairs into the mixture and everything is ready. Crowley wastes no time in lighting a match and watching to see where the spell will lead them.

"I'm not good with maps," Castiel says, "but that doesn't look very far away."

"It isn't," Kevin replies. "Hang on a second." He types the coordinates into his computer and comes up with an unfinished house in an abandoned subdivision. "Looks like the contractor must have run out of money. This place is completely empty."

"A good place to come and go without being seen," Castiel says. "But there's no way we can get in without them seeing us."

"Again, I have a brilliant plan," Crowley says, sensing his moment.

Kevin gives him an annoyed look. "Sure you do."

"Please." Crowley puts his hand over his heart dramatically. "I happen to think it's the best way to save Dean. That is the point of all this, isn't it?"

Castiel frowns. "What is this plan?"

"Easy. Being the blundering imbeciles angels always are, they won't suspect anything amiss if I offer to trade you for Dean."

"Because it sounds like something you would do," Kevin says.

"Precisely. It would get both of us inside and close to Dean where we can stage our grand rescue. Nothing to it."

"Except that we don't know how many there are," Castiel says. "And need I remind you that we're both human now? I doubt we're much of a match for even a few angels."

Crowley smirks. "Sam and Dean subverted the whole lot of you."

Castiel gets a very dark look in his eyes that is actually somewhat frightening. "We are not Sam and Dean."

The meaning is twofold, and Crowley picks up on that. One, that Castiel does not appreciate the comparison, and two, that he and Crowley don't have the same skills and determination and strength of character and all that nonsense.

"Do you want to just sit here then?" Crowley says. "I don't see any other options that don't include someone actually dying, which I thought we were trying to avoid."

"What do you care?" It's a challenge that Crowley is certain Castiel has been wanting to make ever since this whole thing started.

Perhaps a bit of honesty is merited at this point. "Dean could have killed me, but he didn't. I pay my debts."

The accusation is clear, and Crowley knows he's won the argument. There is still a debt, an unpayable one between them. The only reason they aren't killing each other right now is that somehow, they both matter to Dean, and it would upset him. It's possible that Dean might forgive Castiel if he did something nasty to Crowley, but Dean would be more likely to shoot Crowley the second he knew he'd done anything to Castiel. A bit unfair, in Crowley's opinion, but he doesn't get to make these decisions. He can only work with what he has on hand, and at the moment, that means teaming up with the one person in the universe he truly hates.

**~oOo~**

Dean's not sure at what point he falls asleep, wakes, sleeps, wakes again. He has no concept of time in this windowless, empty room. The angels haven't come through in a long time. Dean is starting to recognize the signs of hunger and dehydration, but more than anything, he is exhausted from standing so long. When he falls asleep, his weight rests on his arms, which are now burning from the exertion.

How long has it been? A day? Two? Does it even matter?

Dean shakes himself. He can't start thinking like that now. He has to focus. He may be a captive, but he's still got a mission. It ain't over yet.

Usually, these sort of thoughts would help Dean to come up with some sort of plan or at least work up the energy to struggle and shout a little, but he can't seem to find that in himself now. He's not giving up. No way in Hell that's happening. But maybe he's not giving it the same effort he used to because that's just not in him anymore. It never will be.

There's always been something missing, something empty in Dean. Something other people had that he just didn't. It never mattered as long as he had Sam to make up the difference. Dean remembered telling his brother once that they kept each other human. He was probably right. Dean's sure not feeling very human right now. He's not sure what he feels like, but everything seems to have been leading to this. His violent thoughts, his lack of concern for anyone outside of Cas.

And that's when Dean knows that whatever part of him is holding onto that shred of humanity will be obliterated if anything happens to his only friend. It doesn't seem as noble as the cause Dean used to fight for—or thought he was—but it's all he has, and it will do. Dean's not gonna die here, and neither is Cas. So whether he feels like it or not, he's gotta start coming up with a plan.

But would it kill them to give him a drink of water? A snack maybe? Dean doesn't think well on an empty stomach. He doesn't think all that well in general, but he's passable when he's well fed. As it stands, he can't seem to think of any angle, anything his captors would want more than Cas dead. There's no bargaining, no dealing. Dean doesn't have anything they want. He's useless to save his friend.

It's a feeling Dean is all too familiar with, and he's not in the mood to wallow in it. So, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls a the chains, just a little, and in the right direction that, after a million years, he might start to weaken their anchor points in the wall. It's not much, but it's all he can do.

And in case anyone is listening, he sings at the top of his lungs, very badly, just to be annoying.

* * *

><p><strong>I am very excited to say that I am working on chapter eleven right now, and I have finally figured out how to make an em-dash in Google Docs. The latter might not seem all that important, but I feel that the use of certain punctuation can affect the feel of a sentence and thus, the effect on the reader. Those little hyphens just weren't doing it for me. Anyway, thanks for all the comments and such. I really appreciate hearing from everyone.<strong>


	8. Choosing Sides

**Chapter Eight "Choosing Sides"**

The trouble is—if the trouble could be just one thing—that Dean falls asleep. He's too exhausted to stop himself when it comes. He never sleeps long, but long enough to dream just as he has been for the last few months. Like he had been before Cas came running into his room the other night, and Dean realized that he'd been calling his brother's name out loud.

They never cease. He sees Sam, beaten and bloody and laughing. It's not Sam. It's not even the way Dean remembers him. It like a demonic remnant, a bit of revenge from the monsters down below. But Dean knows it's got nothing to do with actual demons. It's all in his own head. It's his guilt, his fear, his desire to give in.

Nightmare Sam tells him the things Dean has always feared Sam was really thinking. That he's better off without his older brother, that he never wanted to stick around, that it was pity that made him stay so long. In the dream, in that subconscious moment, Dean knows that his brother doesn't love him, that death was a relief because it got him away from Dean's "protection."

It's only a moment. Dean wakes up, and he screams, "Sam!" And then he remembers that the dream isn't his brother, that Sam wasn't like that. It doesn't make it any easier to breathe in the emptiness that keeps closing in around him like a black hole.

Times like this, Dean needs to be alone. He needs space to gulp in the air that isn't there. That was why he hadn't let Cas in on what was going through his mind the last time. But he doesn't get that option now.

There are three angels standing around him. The one in front looks like a businessman and reminds Dean strangely of Dick Roman. He shouldn't really be surprised. Then there's a bigger guy who looks like he'd enjoy throwing a few punches. And finally, standing further back against the opposite wall is a deceptively normal looking guy who seems, if anything, bored with the whole thing.

It's the business guy who speaks first. "Do you know who I am?" he asks in an even voice.

"Not a clue," Dean replies as irritably as he can manage because he does not like to be interrupted when he's waking from a horrific dream. He's always preferred to live out his mental trauma in peace.

The man smiles slightly, but it's stiff and unconvincing. "My name is Bartholomew. I'm looking for someone, and I think you may know where he is."

"Go to Hell," Dean mutters.

"Can't. Your brother locked the gates."

Dean wants to stab the guy in the throat. He imagines himself doing it, and it gives him a certain thrill.

"Want me to convince him?" the big guy asks.

Bartholomew puts up his hand. "Let's give him a chance." He turns back to Dean. "I know you've had a rough time lately, so I'll be brief. We need Castiel. Tell us where he is, and you go home."

Dean glares at the guy he's already calling Bart in his head. "I don't know," he says, stalling.

"Then call him."

Call him? They don't know. They haven't figured out Cas is human and can't hear Dean's prayers anymore. Dean's not going to be the one to tell them either. That could be the angle he needs to get them out of this alive.

"Not on your life," he says.

"You're willing to sacrifice yourself for a traitor?" Bart looks amused. Big guy looks impatient. Normal guy looks stoic.

"He didn't betray you. Metatron betrayed him. He was kicked out just like everybody else." Dean is sure this information is safe because it says nothing about Cas' lack of grace.

"You think that's all we care about." Bart paces back and forth in front of Dean. "There are so many other things. Has he not told you of the devastation in Heaven? Of his complete rejection of all of us?"

"No offense, but I kinda get where he's coming from."

The flash of blinding pain comes as a shock to Dean, mainly because nobody moves to cause it. When he can finally see straight again, Bart is looking much grumpier than before.

"I'll leave you with my colleagues," he says. "Perhaps you will change your mind."

Stupid as some angels can be, Bart should know better. Dean's been through far worse than these amateurs could ever inflict on him. Not that it will be pleasant, but it's not gonna come close to making him turn on Cas. Nothing could ever do that.

The big guy advances, pulling out a knife as he comes. "Finally something interesting happens around here," he says.

As he begins cutting, Dean sets his jaw and focuses on the blank face of the other angel and wonders how much worse it will be when he decides to step in.

**~oOo~**

"I don't think Dean will appreciate this," Castiel says as classical music blasts through the speakers of the Impala.

In the driver's seat, Crowley almost laughs. "Dean's not here," he replies.

"A fact of which I am well aware."

"What? You think he's better company than me?"

"Eminently. But that's not the point."

"When he gets himself captured, he must resign himself to the occasional commandeering of certain things."

"Even his radio station?"

"You actually like that noise?"

"It's catchy."

"It's barbaric."

"Better than this."

"You're joking! This is _Mozart_. Have you no taste? Of course you don't. You're like a child when it comes to humanity."

Castiel crosses his arms and stares through the windshield. He shouldn't let things like this bother him, but anything Crowley says seems to bother him. "You're driving too slow," he says.

Crowley spares a brief glance at Castiel. He doesn't say anything, but the vehicle accelerates. It's a small victory, and the only one Castiel is likely to achieve.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive at the abandoned housing development, and Crowley parks far enough away that the angels won't notice them too soon. As best they could determine, Dean is being kept in a house near the center of the area, which is probably the only good thing about Crowley's plan. Castiel has doubts about the rest.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks as they retrieve several pitchers of holy oil from the trunk of the Impala.

"More so than the first seventeen times you asked," Crowley replies tersely. He's beginning to let his facade drop, and it surprises Castiel.

"I suppose it's worth the risk," Castiel says. "And if it doesn't work—"

"It. Will. Work." Crowley insists.

"Will you let me finish?"

Crowley makes a show of turning his full attention toward Castiel which achieves the desired effect of being incredibly unnerving.

"I was going to say," Castiel continues, "that if it doesn't work, I don't blame you. If I have to, I'll die in there, just as long as you get Dean out."

Crowley doesn't reply for a moment and maintains a mask of impassivity. Then he tilts his head and forces a smirk. "You know Dean would never forgive me if I let _that _happen." He shakes his head. "Nobody's dying today."

There is no response appropriate to such a statement, so Castiel simply nods and walks off to complete his part of the plan. They are going to surround the entire neighborhood with holy oil in order to force the angels to turn Dean over to them. Failing that, Crowley will offer to trade Castiel. The backup plan is a little too close to the truth of what they'd be willing to do if there were no other choice. But Crowley's promise sticks in Castiel's mind. Could he possibly know what seems to be keeping Dean alive?

_I'm not gonna bail on you, Cas._

The words have echoed in his mind ever since Dean spoke them. Does that mean that Dean would give up on life if Castiel no longer existed? And how does Crowley know that when Castiel isn't sure of it himself?

It takes a long time to finish sealing off the subdivision with holy oil, and the whole time, Castiel is sure they will be spotted, but finally they meet up on the other side, and close the circle. Crowley almost looks giddy as he lights a match and tosses it to the ground.

"You made sure to keep the line unbroken?" he says with only the slightest hint of anxiety in his usually carefree tone.

"Yes," Castiel replies. "I've been doing this much longer than you have."

"Ever on such a scale though?" Crowley actually sounds proud of his idea.

"No," Castiel admits. "The principle still applies. How long do you think—"

Before Castiel can finish his thought a rather angry looking group of angels appear on the other side of the flames.

"You were saying?" Crowley says, looking smug and amused.

"What is the meaning of this?" says the foremost angel.

"I should think that would be clear," Castiel replies. "You took our friend." He forces himself to say _our _even though grouping himself with Crowley in anything is nauseating.

"This is foolish, even for you, Castiel," the angel says. "It will not take us long to douse these flames. Then what?"

"Actually, it was my idea," Crowley speaks up. "A rather brilliant one, in fact. You see, I never meant to leave here with him." Crowley jerks his head toward Castiel who tries his best to appear surprised. "This was just to get your attention. To make sure you understand that I won't accept less than a one hundred percent whole Dean Winchester. So, do we have a deal?"

The angel sneers at Crowley. "Why would I ever deal with the likes of you? The last of the demons."

"Actually, not. Human. Completely. Rather a bore, but it's better than the alternative."

"Locked in Hell for eternity would be too good for you."

"Really? You're moralizing at me? See, this is why I hate angels. So tedious. My terms are simple. You give me Dean, I give you Castiel. That's what you want isn't it?"

"Why should we trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But you have to know this bastard is in such a hurry to die for his only friend. Why do you think he hasn't run?"

The truth of it hits Castiel hard. Maybe Crowley was lying the whole time. Maybe he's just trying to save Dean at all costs and doesn't care what happens to Castiel either way. It doesn't matter, and that thought actually makes Castiel want to laugh. He never thought he'd come out of this alive. Why should Crowley believe any different?

The head angel seems to be considering Crowley's offer, though it's difficult to tell through the haze of the flames. Finally he nods.

"We will accept your terms. Put out the flames and come with me."

Castiel finds a nearby scrap of plywood large enough to walk over. He lays it over a section of fire, smothering it. The rest will go out on it's own. Then the two of them step across and begin what will certainly be a death march. Castiel isn't sure if the angels will let Dean and Crowley go. But he has to try. If they all die, at least none of them will have to live with it.

_Except Kevin_, Castiel thinks with a twinge of guilt.

* * *

><p><strong>Words cannot express how frustrated I am with Sam right now. Gah! But Kevin! I was so glad to see a resolution to the question of his mother. In other news, I'm still working on chapter eleven. I don't do the whole after action hospital scenes very well. They always seem to last too long and get way too emotional. :P<strong>


	9. Death's Door

**Chapter Nine "Death's Door"**

The big guy has been gone for a while when the calm one finally leaves his post against the opposite wall. Dean is having a hard time seeing straight. When the cutting didn't get the desired result out of Dean, the big guy had resorted to hitting him with rock hard fists. Dean has a feeling the guy was going easy to avoid killing him. He could feel his ribs cracking, and he's pretty sure some things are out of joint.

As it is, Dean is not excited to find out just what the silent one has in mind, but when he reaches out his hand with an undeniable look of compassion in his eyes, Dean knows.

"Don't," he manages to say. Taking enough breath to speak sends knives of pain through his torso.

The angel draws his hand back. "Why would you not want to be healed?" He speaks in a soft voice, almost too refined.

"Just so you can mess me up again?"

The angel nods. "I see. That makes sense." His sympathy seems to deepen if that's even possible. "They would only hurt you more. Perhaps they will kill you. Relieve you of pain forever."

That actually sounds really nice to Dean right about now. He has to remind himself that he's still got a reason to live, and he's made a promise. "What's pain?" Dean scoffs.

The angel gets a look of sadness in his eyes so deep, Dean can't help believing it's real. "There are some things no one can endure without losing a part of themselves."

What is he talking about? Is that a threat? "What're you gonna do to me?" Dean asks because he might as well know.

"Nothing. If you do not want me to heal you. That is all I can offer you at the moment."

"Who are you?" Dean has a feeling there's something more going on here than a bunch of grumpy angels out for revenge.

"It does not matter. I am no one."

"Why would you want to help me?"

The angel stares into Dean's eyes, making him want to look away, but he won't. "I believe we are, at heart, compassionate beings. We have forgotten." He stares at the blood and bruises, and Dean wonders if angels can cry because it looks like that's where this is going. "There is so much needless suffering. I cannot make it end on my own."

Wait, is he trying to make some kind of alliance? "What do you want?" Dean asks.

"Later," the angel says. "I will do what I can for you. You must have some patience yet."

The angel leaves the room, and Dean is more confused than he was before the guy started talking. Why would he be here if he wants to help? Is he a spy in Bartholomew's ranks? Is he trying to gain Dean's trust to find Castiel? Dean is pretty sure they call that psychological torture which he's never been all that good at. It takes too much time. Which means he also doesn't know how to fight it. He decides then that he won't speak to the quiet angel anymore. If he doesn't say anything, he can't accidentally lead them to Cas.

None of this helps with his still non-existent escape plan, and Dean finds himself hoping that the angel was telling the truth. That he wants to help. Because Dean could use some help right about now.

**~oOo~**

The neighborhood seems bigger than it did when Castiel walked halfway around it earlier. Maybe the angels are just walking slowly to unnerve them. It must be odd for them, he thinks, to have to deal with humans in this capacity. Even odder, Castiel doesn't feel all that strange _not _being an angel. He can't believe he's getting used to humanity. It's about to be over anyway.

They take a meandering route toward the center of the subdivision, through block after block of empty ghosts of homes that never were. It's an eerie feeling, and Castiel isn't sure why. Perhaps the vacant buildings remind him too much of the four vacant bodies that exist together in an underground shelter. He never thought of emptiness this way before. That they are all living in some kind of between stage, not dead yet, but well on their way. Or in Castiel's case, nearly there.

He has abandoned all hope of them getting out of this alive. He is certain of his own demise and suspicious of Crowley and Dean's. Maybe they'll get out. Maybe Dean will keep holding onto life for Kevin's sake. Castiel can't bear to think of him doing so for Crowley.

They eventually arrive at a more finished house in the middle of a block. The windows still have stickers on them. Once inside, Castiel notes the absence of any furniture or fixtures. He wonders if this is really where they are keeping Dean. The location spell did lead them here, so he must be close.

Crowley stops in the entryway, and stands between Castiel and the angels. "Where is he?" he says.

"This way," the head angel gestures toward a hallway.

Crowley doesn't move. "I think we've come far enough."

"You offered us a trade. Do you want to collect your half?" the angel leaves no room for argument, and Castiel is feeling less confident about any of them surviving this. Which is not part of his plan.

"Where is your leader?" Castiel says. He knows he's just a prisoner at this point, but he hopes Crowley will back him up. They don't have much leverage right now, other than their angel blades and a couple of flasks of holy oil tucked into their pockets. Not much against three full powered angels.

"Out," the angel says. "He has more important concerns than one pathetic traitor."

"Then why bother?"

"Your friend just made it so easy. I suspect he's losing his mind after his brother's death. Apparently humans are susceptible to such things."

Castiel feels the strange sensation of wanting to punch the angel in the face. He thinks Dean would be proud of that.

"Lovely as it's been," Crowley says, "I do have to be on my way, so why don't you bring Dean out, and we can leave?"

The angel nods to the other two, who don't go into the hallway, but rather approach with their eyes on Castiel. They can't afford to fight back just now. Not when Dean isn't in sight.

Castiel feels their hands gripping too tightly to his arms to prevent his escape.

"Is this really necessary?" Crowley complains.

"If you want the Winchester, come get him," the angel says.

There's no other choice. Crowley has to go. He has to go through with the deal, and Castiel is shocked to see a flicker of remorse in his expression.

"Fine," Crowley agrees, faking a smile. "But I don't want this one out of my sight until I get what I came for." He points at Castiel.

The angel relents. "Bring him."

The four of them move into the hallway, head angel first, then Crowley, with Castiel and his jailers bringing up the rear. They come out into a small sitting room with a door across from them. The angel opens the door to what looks like it was intended to be a bathroom. Castiel can't see from this angle, but he feels a shudder of contempt rolling off Crowley as the door opens.

"Bad form," Crowley says, barely containing his anger. "Trading me damaged goods?"

Damaged goods.

Pulling against the grasp of the two angels, Castiel finally gets a look at Dean as they move closer, and it's surprising he's even alive. His body is covered in cuts and bruises. Blood soaks through his clothing and still oozes from some of the deeper wounds. His eyes are closed, and he's barely breathing. So many reactions go through Castiel's mind, but he can't physically do anything. His arms are pinned. He's helpless.

So, he settles for words. "Son of a bitch." It doesn't sound the same coming from him, but it works. "You didn't have to hurt him!"

"_I_ didn't," the lead angel said. "Bartholomew's thugs took care of that."

"Bartholomew?" Suddenly it starts to make sense.

"Yes. Though why he thought to ally with Gadreel is beyond me."

Gadreel. The deserter. It's at this moment that Castiel decides he will do whatever it takes to get Dean and Crowley out. He'll die fighting. No surrender here.

By now, Crowley has moved into the small room, looking Dean over with a dark gaze. Castiel is close enough he can smell the blood, amongst other unpleasant things in the room. Seeing Dean chained and bleeding made Castiel want to vomit and kill something all at once. He settles for giving a meaningful look at Crowley and hoping he notices.

He does.

Before the angels know what's happening, Crowley has reached into his jacket for his angel blade and stabbed backward at the lead angel. He doesn't pause for breath as he pulls the blade forward and flings it with uncanny precision at the angel on Castiel's right.

With one arm free, Castiel reaches for his own blade, but before he can get his hand around it, he feels cold metal at his throat. The element of surprise has evaporated. Crowley is unarmed, save a little holy oil, which will definitely kill Castiel as well as the angel holding a blade to his jugular. It is a sacrifice Castiel is willing to make.

_Do it,_ he thinks. _Just do it, and get Dean out of here._

But Crowley hesitates. They have failed. Castiel is just beginning to taste the bile rising up in his mouth at the thought of giving up when he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder. The angel releases his grip on Castiel and falls backward. As Castiel turns to see what's happened, he notices a blade sticking through the angel's chest and a tall man behind him, holding the handle of said blade.

There is a moment of stunned silence before the man steps forward and breaks Dean's chains with a mere flick of his hand. "You must go now. I will hold them off," he says.

"Who are you?" Castiel asks.

"Some other time. Run. Now."

Castiel turns back to see Crowley leaning over to lift Dean to his feet. As he does so, there are sounds of a scuffle coming from the direction of the entryway. Their mysterious savior has vanished. Castiel moves to help Crowley, and they drag a half conscious Dean through the opposite door they came in. Thankfully, they soon come upon a back door and pick up speed as they duck between the ghost houses.

Any moment, Castiel is sure the other angels will catch up to them, and they will all be killed. But the enemy never comes. The trip to the car goes much faster than the one to the house, but it feels longer with Dean weighing them down, his blood smearing over their hands and clothing. Crowley bemoans the cost of dry cleaning. The humor keeps Castiel running if nothing else.

They reach the car and half collapse as Crowley lessens his hold to reach for the back passenger door, and Castiel falls under Dean's weight.

Lying on the ground, bleeding, taking painful shallow breaths, Dean looks worse than Castiel has ever seen him.

"Cas.." he speaks in a faint voice, and Castiel finds himself mesmerized. "It's okay, Cas..." What is he saying? "Everything's... gonna be okay."

Castiel isn't sure why Dean feels the need to reassure him until his eyes slip closed, and his breathing halts. Last words. Comfort. A goodbye.

Castiel doesn't know when his fists dig into Dean's shirt and he begins shaking the man so hard that blood pours over his hands. It's only when Crowley grabs him by the shoulder and wrenches him away that Castiel recognizes what he's doing.

Crowley doesn't say anything, but leans over and puts his fingers on Dean's neck. What does that mean? Some kind of test? Castiel can't remember for the life of him.

"He's still alive, you moron," Crowley says. "Help me get him in the car before he really bleeds to death."

* * *

><p><strong>I kind of suck at action scenes, but I think this part turned out okay. I suppose it's more about the emotion of it anyway. I think the next chapter is my favorite so far, so be sure to come back next week. It's going to be amazing. I hope.<strong>


	10. Have a Little Faith in Me

**Chapter Ten "Have a Little Faith in Me"**

Dean opens his eyes, and he feels like he's been here before. He's in a hospital room, lying in a bed, watching himself sleep. He's dying. It's only surprising because Dean had expected it much sooner. He looks around, anticipating Death or Tessa or both, but they're not here. He walks out into the hallway, and he knows no one can see or hear him; that's not what bothers him. There should be a reaper here to take him. He'd go without a fight.

Instead, Dean finds himself in a small waiting room, looking down to see what looks like a child with his knees pulled up into his chest, huddled against the wall. It's Cas. Dean's seen his friend in a bad way before, but never like this. The blood on his hands and clothes is Dean's, but that doesn't make it any less upsetting to see.

Dean only catches a brief glimpse of the red-rimmed eyes that seem to have lost their vibrant quality. It could be a trick of the light or Dean's out of body state, but the piercing blue seems to have faded to a lifeless gray.

For a moment, Cas is all there is in the waiting room. Dean can't tear his gaze away, and he's not sure why. The unmasked pain stirs something deep inside that Dean has no name for, but he knows he's felt it many times before. For Sam.

Dean has to look away to keep himself from screaming. The sound sticks in his throat. No one would hear him anyway.

The next thing Dean sees is Crowley sitting nearby with a phone in his hand, but staring across the room at the opposite wall. The only interesting thing there is a tacky, cliched watercolor of a country road in the fall. It seems too bright by comparison to the gray eyes that Dean is trying to forget.

He turns back from looking at the painting to Crowley, who hasn't moved. Dean can see that the phone is open to a conversation with Kevin. The last message says "Made it to the hospital. Doesn't look good though."

Dean wonders why he's here, trapped between life and death. And if he's really dying, shouldn't someone be coming for him?

The silence in the waiting room feels wrong. There should be doctors and nurses passing through. Cas should say something. Like "Dean will be okay." Shouldn't he believe that? Why should he? Dean hasn't really been okay for a long time.

So, maybe this funeral home atmosphere is appropriate. They're losing him, and it hurts. Dean knows that pain like his knows his car, his favorite gun, his own face. It's a constant presence for him, but seeing it reflected like this is unbearable. That's why he can't look at Cas. But he knows he's there. Just in Dean's peripheral vision, falling apart in his own way.

Dean wishes he could speak. That they would hear him, and those agonized looks would fade away. But Dean's dying, isn't he? He can't ever take away that pain. He's already said goodbye. He told Cas everything would be okay, but he should have known that it won't. They're still not over Sam. For Dean to die now will crush them.

"Having second thoughts?"

The voice startles Dean out of his focus, and he turns to see the one he's been expecting, standing in the opening of the hallway. Death.

"I would apologize for the delay," Death says, "but it was intentional."

"Why?" Dean asks. "If I'm dying, what's it matter? I don't need to see this."

"You are not necessarily dying." Death walks over to the vending machine and puts his hand straight through the glass for a bag of chips. "I'd offer you some, but you are a spiritual form and cannot eat. To answer your questions, though: yes, it does matter, and you do need to see this because your fate is not yet determined."

"So this is a guilt trip to make me decide to hold onto life or something?"

"It wasn't my idea."

Death flicks cheese dust off his fingers, and suddenly, they aren't in the hospital anymore. They're standing at the entrance to the library in the bunker, and Kevin is sitting at the table, hands clasped. His phone is still alight with Crowley's message. He lets out a long sigh and looks up at the ceiling.

"Come on, Dean," he whispers. "Hang on. I can't do this without you."

Dean glares at Death. "This isn't real. It's some kind of trick. Why are you doing this?"

"I told you," Death says through a mouthful of chips, "it wasn't my idea." And without another word, he vanishes.

"Hey!" Dean shouts into the air. "Don't leave me here!"

But there is no reply. The light in the library appears to brighten, and Dean turns back to see the library of six months ago. He sees himself sitting in a comfortable chair across the table, but most of all, he sees Sam. Or Sam's back as he leans over a musty old book. Dean remembers this day. He told some stupid joke that actually made Sam laugh.

"I can't watch this." Dean doesn't realize he's saying the words out loud until they're out of his mouth.

But the scene doesn't stop. Death does not return. Dean feels his disembodied heart twist with every one of his own smiles, every deep laugh he elicits from his brother. Sam had so rarely laughed in those last days. Dean is grateful that at least he can't see Sam's face. Seeing that smile, those eyes, might actually kill him. He already wishes he were dead.

The vision ends, and everything begins to fade, but Sam doesn't. The memory is long gone when Dean hears Sam saying words he doesn't remember.

"I'm sorry I made you watch that," he says. "It's one of my favorite memories to revisit. I thought it would be comforting. Obviously not." Sam turns with those last words, and Dean takes an involuntary step back.

"You're not my brother," he says. "What is this? Who are you?"

Sam stays very still, as if not to spook a frightened animal. "Dean, you're dying. In that space between life and death, it is possible for us to meet. Physically, we aren't in the same place. You're in a hospital, and I'm in a whole other dimension."

"You're lying. This is a dream, a hallucination. Just like the others."

Sam actually looks hurt by that. "Dean, I saw you were dying, and the reapers were circling. Ash helped me get in touch with Death, and he said there was still a chance for you."

"You're trying to save me? After you went and died on me, why should I listen to you?"

"It was my time. It's not yous."

"It's been past my time for years."

"Dean, think of Cas, Kevin, even Crowley. They still need you."

"I needed you!"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't see a way out. I had to finish something. I know you don't want to hear this, but I did it for you."

Dean has stopped doubting this is Sam. He's too good, too unpredictable to be Dean's imagination. "I know," he says. "You left me one hell of a mess to clean up."

"I didn't mean for you to get saddled with all that. I actually thought dying would take some of the weight off you."

Dean shakes his head. "You never got it, did you? Looking after you wasn't just my job, my responsibility; it was all I wanted, the only thing that ever made me... happy." Dean sighs and takes a few steps into the room, closer to Sam. "Taking care of you made me human. I don't even know what I am anymore.

Sam smiles faintly. "You're my brother. You're Dean Winchester. And you don't give up. Ever."

"So, this is all some kind of cosmic pep-talk? You show me how much everyone needs me, and I decide to life a little longer, even though you know it's killing me?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not that they need you—which they do—but that losing you would hurt them. You know how that feels, and you promised Cas you wouldn't bail on him."

Dean can almost find it funny that he feels like punching Sam after that comment. "That's not your promise," he says darkly. "You don't get to throw that in my face."

Sam backs off. He stays seated, but there's a look in his eyes that says he's letting go. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know I've got no right to ask you this, but don't do it for me. Just, whatever you do, don't give up now. You've got no idea how bad I want you here, to have the real you, and not just these memories, but Dean—you've got more life, more to do. I hate it, but they need you more than I do."

"When you needed me—"

"You were right there. You didn't let me die alone."

"Well, Crowley was there." Dean can't help it because this is really Sam, and Sam can take a joke.

He suppresses a smile, but Dean knows it's there. "He _doesn't_ count."

"Didn't then. Maybe you're right, Sam. Kills me to say it, but maybe you are."

"This is the hardest thing you will ever do."

Dean tries to laugh, but it doesn't come out right. "Seems my life's full of those lately.

"It won't be forever." Sam seems to know that's no consolation. "Someday, you will die, but not here, not now."

"How much longer?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. Ash is a genius, but he can't see the future. I don't think Death even knows for sure."

"What if I never do? What if this is my only chance?"

"Dean, everyone dies."

"Yeah, but it's never stuck."

"It will."

"How do you know."

"Because it has for me. There are some things I can't explain, that you'll have to see for yourself. But I know you will be here one day. I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Dean isn't sure whether to be surprised by this or not.

"Yes," Sam replies. "I know you don't have faith in a lot of things, but if you could spare some for me. Just this once."

Dean shook his head. "Always, Sammy."

_I love you._

Sam smiles. "Thank you."

_I love you too._

Sam stands and steps closer to Dean. He reaches out his hand, and Dean is surprised when he feels the weight of it resting on his shoulder. It's not a physical encounter, but it's no less real real for that. This is the real Sam. The one he's been unable to see every night since he left that rundown church. It's as if the nightmare Sam never existed. Dean feels Sam's arms wrap around him, and that's when everything starts to fade. Dean can't feel his arms and legs anymore. Everything goes black. Nothing remains, save the lingering scent of Sam and the memory.

**~oOo~**

Dean's first breath of air once he's back in his body is more painful than breathing has a right to be. He's surrounded by bodies in white, pulling and tugging and poking at him.

He's alive. But he remembers. He saw Sam. He chose to live. For Cas. For Kevin and Crowley. He needs to see them.

Dean tries to call out, but it comes up as a coughing noise. His throat is burning from having a breathing tube, but it's gone now.

"Try to stay calm," a voice says. "You're all right, but you need to stay still."

Finally, Dean feels the pain of those hundreds of cuts and bruises and broken ribs that Big Guy gave him. Everything hurts, his head is pounding, and he's thirsty.

He manages to get out one raspy syllable: "Cas..."

"What's he saying?" a nurse asks.

It's then Dean realizes that there aren't nearly as many people in the room as he thought there were. Just one doctor and a couple of nurses.

"Cas." He says it louder this time, wincing as the name claws its way up his throat.

"I think he's asking for his friends," the doctor says. "Try to relax. You can see them in just a minute."

Dean can handle that. Probably.

"They said you were attacked last night; do you remember?" the doctor asks. "Just nod yes or no."

Dean thinks it's safest just to act like he doesn't, so he shakes his head.

"That's okay," the doctor says. "Just try not to move too much. You've suffered multiple lacerations and contusions as well as a few broken ribs. It'll take some time to heal, but you'll be okay. I was concerned about the blood loss, but we got you just in time. For now, don't try to talk or move. I know it will be frustrating, but you'll feel better sooner if you take it easy. Now, I'm going to let your friends see you for a few minutes. They can fill you in on what happened."

Dean doesn't need to be filled in. He knows how he got here. His mind is surprisingly clear, though he can see the pain killers dripping into his IV. After everything that's happened, Dean can't shut his mind off. He feels the pain, but it's like background noise. When the door opens again, and one of the nurses leads Cas and Crowley into the room, Dean can't help thinking he could be with Sam right now, and he feels like a selfish bastard. But he's here. He's made that impossible choice, and that's got to count for something.

The medical professionals leave the room, granting a strange sort of reprieve. Crowley puts on a brave face, but Cas still looks almost as bad as when Dean saw him in the waiting room. Crowley walks around the end of the bed and eyes Dean critically.

"You look like Hell," he says.

"Shut up," Dean rasps back.

"The doctor said you weren't supposed to talk for some reason," Cas says.

Crowley seems amused as he picks up a cup of ice chips that a nurse left on the table near Dean's feet and brings it to Dean.

"What's that?" Cas asks.

"Ice," Crowley replies. "His throat is sore from intubation, and he hasn't had any water since God knows when. The ice helps."

"Oh."

"No one expects you to know these things."

Dean is surprised by Crowley's tone, half condescending, half reassuring. He wonders when that started. He can't help smiling as he watches them. In the waiting room, they were two separate, terrified individuals. Now, they sound like two guys who've fought together. They're on the same page. No doubt, they were forced into it, but Dean isn't sorry for that. Maybe getting captured was stupid, but if this is the result, it's more good than bad. It's much more complicated than that, but at the moment, Dean can only see the upside.

Once he can say more than two words at once, he'll deal with the downsides.

* * *

><p><strong>First off, a bit of a public service announcement: you may have noticed a troll going around in the Supernatural fandom leaving rude comments on people's stories. If you come across this individual, <em>do not engage<em>. Report and block the monster and move on. The only way to kill these things is not to feed them. I am being metaphorical, of course, I don't mean that we should actually kill anyone.**

**Secondly, this is probably my favorite chapter so far because I got to have fun with the whole out of body thing and Sam in general. He's actually really fun to write, and I'm missing out on that a bit by having him dead in this story. I wanted to show that he's still in existence somewhere, and just because we can't see him doesn't mean that he doesn't have his own feelings about what's going on. Hopefully it all makes sense within the story itself. Oh, and I love writing Death.**

**Chapter eleven, on the other hand, is a bit sticky. I'm going to keep working on it this week and try to get some more chapters done so I have a nice cushion when I go to update again.**


	11. Fine Is a Relative Term

**Chapter Eleven "Fine Is a Relative Term"**

Dean thinks the dreams are over. He thinks his encounter with Sam in his dying state will wipe away all the ugliness he had faced each night. He thinks that he will finally have some peace.

Dean is wrong.

It's his third day in the hospital, though he was in unconscious for the first day. They're starting to lessen his pain medication, allowing him to sleep more naturally. Apparently, that isn't such a good thing for his subconscious.

Dean's not sure why he ever thought the nightmares would end. Maybe that moment, near death, he had some kind of breakthrough, but it hasn't lasted. Because he's still here, and Sam isn't, and that's always going to be wrong.

When he wakes, feeling disoriented and frantic, he doesn't really notice that he's thrashing and screaming until he loses consciousness and wakes again to discover he had to be sedated, and he's torn his stitches, and everything hurts worse than before.

Cas is always there to tell him what's going on. Dean is grateful for the support, but most of the time, he'd rather be alone. He can't say that, though. He can't say much of anything, and he doesn't feel like explaining just yet.

Kevin showed up at some point the first time Dean woke, but he doesn't remember much from that visit since he was starting to feel groggy again from the meds that were very strong at that point.

Now, Dean feels too much. He notices every time one of his friends comes into the room, every sympathetic look or offer of some form assistance or other.

Eventually, Kevin goes back home to get to work on tracking the angels, and Crowley can't seem to sit still for five minutes, but Cas stays. He's beginning to get a rather wilted look that means he hasn't slept well or showered in a few days. Dean wonders if he plans on staying the whole time. Probably.

By the end of the third day, Dean is starting to get his voice back, and he knows there's a lot he needs to bring everyone up to speed on: the mysteriously helpful angel, this Bartholomew guy, even seeing Sam. Dean doesn't want to talk about Sam, but he knows it's long past time to get it all out there. He's not the only one who lost something. He doesn't want to share that with anyone, but he doesn't have much of a choice.

But at the moment, Cas is looking particularly beat, and Dean thinks that now's not the time for all that.

"You should get some sleep," he says, still keeping his voice low to avoid strain.

Cas looks at him curiously. "I'm fine."

Dean shakes his head, one of the few movements that doesn't hurt. "You've been sitting in that chair for three days."

"Two. I spent the first day in the waiting room."

"Details. You're human, and you have to sleep."

"Four hours, right?"

Dean's not sure if he should laugh, but it would hurt too much to try. "Whatever you need."

"I've slept."

"Cat naps. Doesn't count."

"You want me to leave?"

"No, I—well..."

"You could just say so."

"It's not like that."

"But it is dangerous. Bartholomew's people took you to get to me."

"Totally not what I was talking about."

"It's true, though. They will keep coming after me. You know that." Cas seems to have been waiting for an opportunity to bring this up. He says it so matter-of-factly as if talking about the weather.

Dean sighs. "Then we'll deal with it."

"They would have killed you," Cas continues, his voice losing a little of that control. "No matter what I did, we both would have died, and after everything I've done, that's... one more thing I can't have on my conscience."

"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean has a feeling he already knows, and this is not a conversation he wants to have. Ever.

"I'm saying it would be safer for you—and everyone—"

"Don't."

"Dean."

"No. Don't you dare. Don't you walk away; don't—don't you dare leave me, Cas."

Cas gives Dean that pained look he used to get sometimes when they were in Purgatory and he knew he wasn't going to leave with Dean. At this point Dean is about ready to climb out of this bed and shake some sense into his friend. But until he heals, all he has are words.

"You can't save my life and then take it away like that," Dean says as forcefully as he can manage. "You are the only reason I'm still here, and if the angels want you, they gotta go through me first."

Cas smiles grimly. "That shouldn't be too difficult right now."

"You know what I mean, Cas. We've faced worse than them before; we can do it again."

"Not like this." Cas shakes his head. "Not when they're so disorganized and unruly. They have nothing to lose, and they want me dead."

Cas is giving up, and Dean needs to put a stop to this right now.

"And we've got everything to lose," he says. "But there are four of us, and that's more than we've had in a long time. I'm fighting with all I got to keep us alive here, so don't you tell me we can't do this. We have to. I know I'm asking a lot of you, but it's no more than you've asked of me. And I wouldn't ask if I thought you couldn't do it. But I didn't claw my way back from the edge just to watch you give up. I won't."

Cas stares at his hands. "Your faith in me is... comforting."

"Good, 'cause I'm just about done with this whole motivational speaking thing."

"You're the one in the hospital." Cas looks up with a weak smile. "I should be the one offering consolation."

"Keep it. I'm fine."

"Are you?" Cas isn't talking about physical injuries.

Normally, Dean would brush it off, but he knows if he wants Cas to stick around, he has to be honest. Not one of his strong suites.

"I been better," Dean admits. "But I been worse too. Like I said, we got four people working together, and that's more than I thought when..." Dean allows a long sigh to escape his lips. "I thought I'd lost everything. But I didn't."

"You mean that?" Cas seems surprised.

Dean understands why such a statement would be shocking. "Yeah," he says. "I always said you were like family. 'Bout time I started acting like it. And Kevin too. Hell, even Crowley's not completely horrible."

"Not completely," Cas agrees reluctantly.

"He still hate you?"

"I'm not sure. He seemed to... warm a little while we were looking for you. And he did save my life, but I'm assuming that was for your benefit as well."

"It's a start."

"The problem is, he's right. At least, that I betrayed him, but I did the same to you."

"Guess I'm just more forgiving."

"Yes, you are. I've always known that."

It's an odd conversation, and Dean's not entirely sure where it's going to end up, but he's glad he managed to skip over talking about Sam. He knows he'll still have to at some point, but not right now.

"I do have one question," Cas says.

"What's that?" Dean replies.

"Did Crowley—did he kill Meg?"

It's only going to make things worse, but Dean knows he has to tell the truth. "Yes."

**~oOo~**

It takes a few more days for Dean to be able to sit up. He finally manages to convince Cas to go home for a while, and he notices that Crowley stays when Cas is gone. They're guarding him.

The dreams get worse, and his doctor takes to sedating Dean every night so he won't wake up. That just leaves him trapped in the nightmares longer. The doctor tries to get him to talk to someone about the "trauma." Dean doesn't bother telling him that it has nothing to do with how he ended up in the hospital, and pretends he still doesn't remember anything. He just wants to go home, for this all to be over. At home, he can talk to Cas. He can tell the others about all that happened without fear of being interrupted. He can feel safe again.

It's weird to Dean that he wants that. He needs to be somewhere familiar, even though it reminds him of Sam. Maybe because of that. He knows the dreams are just dreams. He tells himself so every chance he gets, but when he's in it, Dean can't tell the difference. Sam hates him. Sam never came to him when he was dying. That's just a fantasy.

In the daylight, Dean knows what's real. He knows that Sam wants him to keep fighting. He knows the vision was real, and the nightmares aren't. He knows he has to talk to Cas about the whole thing. They say Dean can go home in a few days, but this can't wait.

"I saw Sam," Dean says without preamble.

It's early afternoon, and Cas is standing by the window, staring out onto the parking lot below. "In the dreams?" he asks.

"No—Yes. But I mean I saw him when I was dying."

"You weren't dying." Cas doesn't turn around.

"You're not listening to me. I _saw_ Sam."

"It's only natural."

Dean is feeling better, and he could almost get out of bed and make Cas pay attention, but he'll save that for when he has no other options. "I wasn't dreaming, Cas," he says. "I was about to die, and Sam was there."

Cas finally turns from the window and stares intently at Dean. "How is that possible?"

Dean does his best to explain about Ash and Death. By the end of it, he's still not sure if Cas believes him. Honestly, Dean wouldn't believe it if it hadn't happened to him.

The former angel narrows his eyes, deep in thoughts. "Theoretically, it is possible, but highly unlikely."

"It was Sam," Dean repeats. He can't remember the last time he said his brother's name so much. He hasn't wanted to until now.

Cas sits down on the edge of the bed near Dean's knees. "Okay," he says. "What did he say?"

Dean has been planning on this, but now that it's here, he has a hard time getting the words out. "He—he said I couldn't give up. That I had to keep fighting for you, and..." The and doesn't matter.

"Why would he say that?" Cas asks, surprisingly. "Why wouldn't he want you to be with him?"

_"You've got no idea how bad I want you here, to have the real you, and not just these memories, but Dean—you've got more life, more to do. I hate it, but they need you more than I do."_

"He did—he does," Dean says. "But he said I needed to stay here."

Cas faces the window again. "Well, if it really was Sam, I'm grateful for that."

_If_? Dean isn't sure why, but he needs Cas to believe him. "It really was Sam. You're just gonna have to trust me on that."

"You've been dreaming about him so long..."

"I've been dreaming about something, but it ain't Sam."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

Cas nods. "Okay. I believe you."

"Thanks."

"I'm still not sure why you felt the need to tell me."

"Because somebody else needed to know. Like if I didn't say it out loud, maybe it never happened."

Cas looks at Dean again. "I understand. Why is it that we can know things are true while they're happening, but doubt them later?"

"'Cause good things don't happen to us, Cas."

"I know."

**~oOo~**

Going home is an experience of mixed emotions. Dean is happy to be leaving the hospital for a place he might finally have some time to himself. He's happy that he can stand on his own two feet. For a while, anyway. It's more of an effort than it should be to get to the car and make the trip back to the bunker. And there's the fact that Crowley is driving his Baby and listening to some girly music. Every time Dean tries to change the station, Crowley swats his hand away. Kevin makes supportive comments from the backseat, but it doesn't do much good.

When they get back, Cas has set up Dean's room to make it easier to get around. He's also managed to make lunch, which is canned soup and some rather burnt looking grilled cheese sandwiches. Dean's not about to complain. He can put on a happy face for now. He's pretty sure that's the only way anyone will leave him alone more than a few minutes. He's half afraid they're going to set up a bedside vigil in his room, alternating every few hours. But they don't.

Dean is alone at last, safe in his private haven. What he wouldn't give for a crummy motel room and the sound of his brother's steady breathing right now.

Dean tries to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing Sam's face and fearing what happens next. He knows if he takes the drugs the doctor gave him to help him sleep, he'll get stuck in those dreams. Maybe it's the best he can hope for with the alternative being no sleep at all or waking up suddenly and jarring his sensitive ribs. He debates for a long time until he realizes that the last option isn't really an option at all because he's not going to get to sleep on his own. Now that's he's off 24/7 pain meds, his mind is more alert and he can feel every stab, even when he's not moving a muscle. If he doesn't sleep, the others will worry. Dean can't stand it when people worry over him.

Finally, he staggers out of bed and grabs the sleeping pills on the nightstand. He takes a couple without water and cringes as he gets back into bed. He's faced the dreams every night for the past few months. He can face them again.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not particularly thrilled with this chapter. There are parts I really like, but the whole being stuck in the hospital thing is something I've always found tedious. I wanted there to be a reasonable amount of time between when Dean woke up and when he was able to leave since he was pretty beat up. Still, it feels wrong to have him just lying there talking. He's so much more dynamic than that. Thankfully, there's only one chapter of that, and Dean will get back in action soon.<strong>


	12. Where Do We Go From Here

**Chapter Twelve "Where Do We Go from Here?"**

Dean's second day back, he wakes late, only to discover that Kevin has crept into his room to check on him. The prophet stands there for a moment, as if purposefully allowing the awkwardness to sink in.

"Just making sure you weren't dead," Kevin says, half joking. He still sounds worried.

"I'm okay," Dean replies, sitting up and groaning as the stiffness all over his body tries to hold him back.

Kevin crosses over to the nightstand and picks up the prescription bottles without a word. He looks at them for a second and then hands the pain meds to Dean.

"Did you take the sleeping pills?" he asks.

"Yeah." Dean takes a couple of the pills and tosses the bottle back to Kevin. "Couple days and I won't need 'em anymore."

Kevin nods. "Cas wants to know if he should make you some breakfast."

"How's his cooking today?"

Kevin shrugs. "It's okay."

"All right. Tell him I'll be out in a few minutes."

Kevin leaves the room still holding the prescription bottles. Dean isn't sure what that means, but he doesn't care. He decides to skip the complex process of taking a shower at the moment. He'll worry about that later. He does wash his face and starts to feel more awake. And a lot more pain. Dean's had broken ribs, broken fingers, even a broken leg, so this is really nothing new. But that also means that he knows how long the healing process takes, and it's just a bit too much "taking it easy" for his tastes.

As he stares into the bathroom mirror, Dean can't help seeing the pronounced shadows under his eyes, how pale he has become, and the ugly cuts and bruises decorating his face. Some of them will scar. Dean remembers that he used to have an angel to take care of these things, and maybe he took that for granted. Now he has an angel making him breakfast.

Better than nothing, he supposes.

It takes longer to walk to the kitchen than it should, but Dean is determined to be content that he can walk on his own two feet at all. He's never been much of an optimist, so this is a stretch. When he gets to the kitchen, Cas is staring intently at a frying pan full of bacon as if that will make it cook faster. There's a distinct smell of breakfast grease permeating the room, and it gives Dean an undeniable sensation of warmth along with a flood of stinging memories. He realizes that he's going to have to accept both as part of his life now.

Cas finally sets a plate of slightly overdone eggs and bacon in front of Dean and sits down across from him. Dean gets the impression he's being supervised. Which is weird because he's usually the one looking out for everyone else.

"You know, I can eat without hurting myself, right?" he says around a mouthful of eggs.

Cas looks down at his hands, as if embarrassed. "Do you need anything else?" he asks.

"No, this is fine." Then, suddenly remembering how often he's taken Cas for granted, Dean says, "Thanks."

"If you don't like it—"

"Cas, it's fine. A definite improvement on hospital food."

"I let it cook too long. I know I did. Crowley said so earlier too."

"Crowley can make his own meals if he's gonna complain. Where is he, anyway?"

"I don't know. He disappeared after breakfast, and even if I wanted to find him, I'm not sure I could. This place is huge."

"So your truce was more for my benefit," Dean says remembering their moment of understanding in the hospital.

Cas shook his head. "He saved my life, but he doesn't have to like me. Honestly, I'd be concerned if he did."

Cas picks up Dean's empty plate and stands with a bit of a grimace, as if something pained him.

"Did you get hurt?" Dean asks, suddenly realizing that he never bothered to ask after he woke in the hospital.

Cas hesitates, as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth. "My shoulder," he finally says. "When that angel saved me, his blade went all the way through the guard and cut me."

"You did get that looked at?"

"Oh, yes. We we brought you in, someone noticed it bleeding and made me get it cleaned out and stitched up."

"Why do you sound annoyed about that?"

"My mind was elsewhere at the time."

"Yeah, ignoring your injuries is a sure way of making them worse, for future reference."

"I'll remember that. Though I hope I won't need to."

"You're human and you spend a lot of time around me. You're going to bleed."

Cas nods. He's still standing between the table and the counter, holding Dean's plate. "Somehow it matters more now," he says wistfully. "When I bleed, I'm actually losing something."

Dean hasn't really thought about it until now, but Cas really hasn't confronted his own mortality. As a human, Dean's had enough trouble with the subject, but he can't really imagine what it's like for an angel to lose their deathless state. But Dean has always known the significance of bleeding, and he should, having done more than his fair share of it.

"It's a human thing," Dean says. "I can't change it. I can't fix it. But I can understand it."

Cas finally sets the plate down beside the sink and turns back to look at Dean. "I know you can. None of us can stop what's coming for us. Or for anyone else."

Dean stares at a line of crumbs dusting the table and turns Cas' words over in his mind. It doesn't sit well, not being able to change anything or save anyone. It's just not in him to accept it, even though he knows it's true. He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Doesn't stop us from fighting, though. Sometimes... sometimes we screw destiny, and you're right; it doesn't fix anything, but that's not really the point."

Cas nods slowly, understanding clear in his bright eyes. "The point is fighting anyway. For something you believe in. That's what makes a human, and that's the only thing worth being."

This is what Sam did for him, Dean realizes. He didn't take away the nightmares or make him happy with his life. He gave Dean his fight back. He gave Dean his humanity. Dean feels himself smiling, and it's such a foreign sensation, that at first he doesn't know what's happening. As he lets it sink in, Dean knows that he can do this. He's not okay; he'll never be okay. But he can keep going anyway, and after months of struggling, he finally believes that.

As he gets up from the table and feels the deep ache all over his body, Dean maintains his smile. "I'm going to check on my car."

"What's wrong with your car?" Cas asks, frowning in confusion.

"Crowley was driving it and listening to Johann Sebastian Bach or some crap like that. I gotta make sure he didn't mess with anything else."

"I told him not to," Cas says. "But he wouldn't listen."

"Next time, shoot him in the knee or something."

Cas smiles too, and the way his face lights up makes Dean think that he may be able to put the haunting image of those dead, gray eyes out of his mind forever. It's more progress than he was hoping for so soon, and Dean gets the feeling from how well his morning is going that he's going to find his car in such a state as to make him want to crawl back into bed. Things can't possibly stay this good.

**~oOo~**

The garage is in an entropic condition when Dean enters. There are several drawers open on the tool chest and instruments far removed from their proper places. There also seems to be a layer of garbage on the floor surrounding the Impala which is at the center of the room with all four doors and the trunk hanging open.

"What the hell is this?" Dean demands, hoping the party responsible is near enough to strangle without too much effort.

Crowley pops up from the backseat of the car. "Did you know there was a thriving landfill under your seats?" he asks.

That explains the garbage. "So what?" Dean replies, contemplating the myriad ways he will murder Crowley.

"I thought you took better care of your things. I just came to put things back in order when I discovered the mess."

Dean glanced over at the tool chest again. "And you thought you'd rearrange my wrenches?"

"No, I fixing the creaking doors."

Dean takes a deep breath. Maybe he won't kill Crowley, but he's preparing some choice words. "Okay, there are twelve vehicles in this place," he says. "Why didn't you just drive one of them and leave mine alone?"

"We were a bit busy at the time. Besides, all the supplies are in your trunk. I always planned on putting things back the way I found them."

"Maybe you're not hearing me: _don't touch my car_."

Crowley gets out of the backseat and regards Dean with something like incredulity. "Oh, so I save your life, and I'm still treated like a pesky insect?"

Dean runs his hand along his jaw trying to figure out what Crowley is getting at. "What does any of that have to do with this?"

"The fact that you're upset with me for cleaning up a mess is mystifying."

"Yeah, cleaning up. You do know I had those shelves all organized? And I don't even want to know what you've done to the armory."

"The toolbox was the only thing that was organized, and I'll put everything back. Except the refuse, of course."

Dean kicks aside a flattened takeout carton as he steps forward to close the driver door of the Impala. "Just let me take care of it," he says as the door slams.

Crowley takes a step away from the car, finally sensing Dean's frustration. "Of course," he says.

Dean furtively checks the interior of the car as he closes the other doors. Looks fine so far. When he reaches the trunk, he sees that Crowley has organized the weapons into some kind of category system based on their uses. Which would be fine if Dean hadn't already had his own system that only he understood. He'd fix it later.

During this time, Crowley has begun picking up the trash and shoving it into a plastic bag. It isn't nearly as bad as Dean first believed.

"So have you been hiding out, or what?" Dean asks, returning to the tool chest to see about reordering it.

"What are you talking about?" Crowley asks, still focused on his task.

"Cas said you disappeared after breakfast. You know, you can't avoid him forever."

"I'm not avoiding anything. I'd simply prefer to spend my time doing something useful than hanging about with a couple of children."

Dean maintains his composure as he fits wrenches into their case. "I know you don't like Cas. Or Kevin, really, but they've got as much reason to hate you as you do to hate them. If not more."

"So what's this about? You're trying to make peace?"

Dean closes the case and turns around to face Crowley who has finished his cleaning. "This is about survival. About keeping each other alive. And if all you're interested in is looking out for yourself, we don't want you here."

"We?" Crowley laughs derisively. "There's a 'we' now? I thought it was just you all by your lonesome and the rest of us trying to make sure you didn't off yourself because then we'd really be screwed."

Dean knows there's some truth to that. He hasn't been right since losing Sam, and it's forced everyone else to pick up the slack. Not anymore.

Dean nods slowly. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Soon as I'm back in fighting shape, we're going after those angels and putting an end to all this."

"Why?" It's a challenge, not simply a question.

"Because they piss me off," Dean says.

Crowley smiles. It seems that's what he's been waiting for. "I can be a team player," he concedes. "But trust is something that must be earned."

"Then I'd say we all got work to do. Nobody's innocent in all this."

"You've always been so free with the second chances, haven't you? From megalomaniacal angels to reformed vampires and demons. Well, I'm not like you, Dean. I don't give second chances. I honor my debts, and I expect others to do the same."

"You realize this isn't a business relationship, right?"

"What then? Friendship? Family? I hardly think I will ever be that to you."

Dean has to think about that. Crowley isn't just an ally anymore, but he's not exactly a friend either. Still, Dean has decided to trust him, and that's close enough. "Call it what you want," he says. "It's not like any of this is normal. But if we're gonna carry forward, we all have to be on the same page."

"Comrades in arms, then?" Crowley says. "I suppose I can handle that."

"Yeah, just don't touch my car ever again, deal?"

Crowley nods his head to the side. "Fair enough."

**~oOo~**

The library has been quiet all morning, and Kevin almost feels good about his work on the angel tablet and his tracking efforts. It probably has more to do with the fact that Dean is home safe and everyone's still alive than the work itself, which is tedious and largely unfruitful. Kevin is still surprised when Dean shows up in the library with a book under his arm.

"You're reading?" he asks as Dean sits in one of the arm chairs across the room.

Dean shrugs. "I'm supposed to be 'taking it easy,' and I can't drink on pain meds, so..." He holds up the book, which is actually a small notebook, rather than a novel or one of the many reference books the bunker holds.

Kevin doesn't ask, but turns back to his notes, giving Dean his space. The ensuing silence isn't awkward or tense. It feels a lot like the old days when Sam and Dean would spend time researching a hunt while Kevin worked on his translations. More often than not, Kevin found himself missing Sam's deep voice announcing some new discovery, followed by Dean's inevitable joke or sarcastic remark. Kevin knows those days are over. Dean won't ever laugh the way he used to. He won't make the same jokes because there's a part of him only Sam could bring out. But Sam didn't take away everything when he died. Kevin has to believe the younger Winchester knew what he was doing when he gave up his life. Sam was always the most optimistic of all of them. He believed in redemption and hope. The light at the end of the tunnel, as he called it. Kevin can't see much light of any kind, but watching Dean reading in silence with the faintest of smiles on his lips tells him maybe there's more hope than he originally thought.

As much as an hour later, Kevin looks up and sees that same faint smile mixed with the unmistakable signs of tears. For a moment, Kevin is frozen, unsure of what to do. He wishes he could just ask Dean what's wrong, but he knows that would be intruding on a personal moment, and he's always tried not to do that. Still, Dean is just sitting there where anyone could see him, so he must not be too intent on privacy.

Finally, Kevin turns his chair to face Dean and speaks up. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Dean looks up as if suddenly aware that he is not alone. He gazes at Kevin for a moment, then clears his throat and runs his hand over his eyes, as if that can erase what Kevin saw there. "Yeah," he says. He holds up the book again for an explanation. "Sam's journal. One of 'em anyway."

Kevin doesn't need any more to know why Dean was simultaneously happy and sad. Memories of his own mother bring the same feelings as well as those of Sam. Maybe Kevin wasn't really family, but he certainly felt like it after Dean went out of his way to make him feel wanted. Kevin wouldn't say that Sam was his brother too. Not to Dean, anyway. But he understood, and that was enough. Dean could undoubtedly see that in his eyes.

Dean stands, slowly, wincing at the movement after so long of sitting. He crosses the room and lays the book down on the table next to Kevin's notes. "You can read it if you want," he says. "He talks about you too."

Kevin looks from the book to Dean, and he knows he's in real danger of breaking up himself. "Are you sure?" he asks in an obviously husky voice.

Dean nods. "I think he'd want you to see it. And Cas."

Kevin looks at the book again. Part of him wants to have that little piece of Sam again, but another part thinks that should be something for Dean to keep to himself in the same way that Kevin doesn't show people his mom's photo albums and his father's ring. But there's a look in Dean's eyes that makes Kevin decide to reach for the book. He's not sure what it is, but it's as if Dean needs to share this with someone. Maybe then he won't have to mourn his brother alone anymore.

"He knew what he was doing," Kevin says, but as the words come out, he's not sure if he believes them.

"I know he did," Dean says. He says it in that same way he used to tell Kevin that everything would be okay, that no one could get to him here, that he was part of the family. That tone of certainty that leaves no room for disbelief.

Kevin looks at Dean again, and realizes that if he lives to be 1,000, this man will never cease to surprise him.

* * *

><p><strong>This is probably the longest and most positive chapter I've written so far. I enjoyed bringing in all the characters and having a little more humor. I am a bit behind on chapter thirteen, but hopefully I can get it and more done by next week so I won't be so pressed for chapters.<strong>


	13. Forward Motion

**Chapter Thirteen "Forward Motion"**

Castiel tries to prevent Dean from making dinner, but upon being threatened with a rather large santoku knife, he settles for offering his assistance. Dean readily accepts, which is surprising, considering his determination to do it himself. Castiel suspects he is not quite back to full capacity, as much as he tries to pretend he is.

And honestly, Castiel is glad that he's not in charge of preparing another meal by himself. He's afraid Crowley might stab him with a butter knife if he burns one more dish. Conversely, Dean works effortlessly. Now and then, Castiel notices a slight pause in his rhythm, as he deals with the lingering pains of his ordeal, but on the whole, Dean seems startlingly okay.

When things are almost ready, Dean sends Castiel to inform the others. "And tell Crowley if he doesn't get his ass down here, he gets to sleep in the dungeon," Dean adds.

Castiel hopes he will not have to deliver that message, as the humor would be lost coming from him. Thankfully, Crowley doesn't say anything when Castiel finds him, but follows in silence back to the kitchen. Kevin is already there when they return, and Dean has just laid out the main dish.

"What is that?" Crowley asks.

"Some kind of casserole," Dean says. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, so shut up and eat."

This is not said defensively, but rather with good humor, which is another in a long string of surprising occurrences today.

Castiel sits down next to Kevin, who is already taking a generous helping of the substance and looking rather excited about it. Castiel doesn't really know what casserole is, having never seen one before, but it must be something good because of all the things Dean put in it, and the expression on Kevin's face.

They all settle into eating, and there's a calm silence, punctuated by the clinking of silverware. The food is good, as far as Castiel can tell. He suspects that Dean is one of those fabled individuals who just excels at cooking no matter what it is.

Finally, Dean sets aside his fork and speaks again. "So where are we?" he asks.

"Where are we where?" Kevin replies with his mouth full.

"With the angels. What do we know about them?"

"Maybe you should wait until you feel better—" Castiel begins.

"I feel fine," Dean interrupts. "I'm not talking about going after them tonight. Just information. I know we got a guy named Bartholomew leading the pack. Any other familiar faces?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I was surprised by that, but they could have found new vessels. I did know Bartholomew though, and he was... ruthless."

Crowley huffs. "When's the last time you encountered a polite angel?"

Castiel wants to make some kind of comeback, but he doesn't have anything. Angels don't need to be polite, and they certainly aren't.

"So what does he want?" Dean asks. "I mean, besides you dead."

"I'm sure all the angels want to get back to Heaven, but he probably intends to be the new leader of a unified force. The trouble is, with no one angel more powerful than another, it's impossible to keep order anymore. There are no more archangels, and I doubt we'd want any of them in charge anyway."

"So, what? We're just supposed to let them run wild all over our planet?"

"No, but fighting them directly isn't an option. If we could get them back to Heaven, they would take their feud there, and at least the Earth would be safe."

Dean looks over at Kevin knowingly. "Guess that means you," he says.

Kevin nods, no longer concerned with the food on his plate. "I had a feeling," he says. "The angel tablet's slow going, but I'll keep working on it. And maybe you two can help me with that." He looks at Castiel and then Crowley.

"What do you need me for?" Crowley asks.

"You know several languages, don't you? Sometimes I can't translate directly to English, but between the three of us, we should be able to crack it."

Dean gives Kevin a curious look. "Are you not making me help because I'm injured?"

"No, I'm not making you help because you would be useless, but you can work on tracking the angels physically. There will be signs, and you're the best one to follow them."

Dean smirks. "Guess we better get to work then." He stands up. "Crowley's turn to do dishes."

Crowley looks surprised. "How did that happen?"

"Touch my car again, and you'll be on KP until you're 90."

"I'm 353."

"You know what I mean!" Dean calls as he leaves the room.

Castiel isn't sure exactly what just happened, but no one is killing each other, so he decides to be content with that as he follows Kevin and Dean toward the library.

**~oOo~**

A pleasant silence settles in over the library, punctuated by an occasional string of curses coming from the direction of the kitchen. Dean is seated at Kevin's computer at one table, while Kevin and Castiel work together at the other. They have fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Kevin finds that translating the angel tablet into Enochian is much easier than English, and Castiel has no trouble making the next step. They continue this way for a long time, and Kevin doesn't even notice when he begins to feel sleepy. He looks up to see that Dean has started a pot of coffee and that suddenly seems like the best idea in the world.

As they take an unspoken break from their work, Crowley finally emerges from the kitchen. He looks a bit irked by something.

"What took you so long?" Dean asks.

"The floor needed mopping," Crowley says. "And the spice rack was completely disorganized. As obsessive compulsive as you are about some things, I was surprised."

"I've been a little busy."

Crowley shrugs in concession and moves over toward the tables, looking over the progress so far. He gives a faint smirk of approval at the pages of Enochian to English translations. He runs his hand along the side of the table and stops when it reaches a plain brown book. He picks it up, seemingly unaware of what he's doing.

What happens next, is almost too fast for Kevin to register, but he knows instinctively what's happening. Dean drops his coffee mug on the side table, letting dark brown liquid slosh on the floor and the smooth wood surface of the table. He takes two long strides across the room and snatches the book from Crowley's hands. The former demon looks genuinely taken aback.

"What did I do?" he asks.

But Dean is already on his way out of the room, not looking back, not speaking. Kevin suddenly feels a guilty knot twisting in his stomach, and he's no longer interested in his untouched coffee.

"What was that?" Cas asks, looking at Crowley.

"I forgot," Kevin said. "It's one of Sam's journals."

"Why was it just lying there?" Crowley says in an annoyed sort of voice. He wouldn't have picked it up if he'd known.

"Dean left it there for me," Kevin said. "He wanted me to read it. You too, Cas. I didn't even think about it when I left it there."

Kevin knows there's a big part of this that he's not saying. That Dean wanted him and Cas to read the journal, but not Crowley. It's kind of obvious. It makes sense. But it could hurt what fragile solidarity they do have.

"You have to understand," Kevin says, willing Crowley to just let it go.

"It's not like I could have known," Crowley says in a grouchy tone.

Kevin tries to remind himself that Crowley is human and actually has feelings, but he finds it difficult to be sympathetic.

"Maybe I should talk to him," Cas says, looking toward the doorway.

"About what?" Crowley says, as if talking is the last thing Dean needs.

Cas isn't paying attention, though as he moves toward the hallway. "Sam," he says.

**~oOo~**

Dean sits motionless on the edge of the bed, staring past the book in his hands at the box on the floor by his feet. It's full of the other journal's he'd found in Sam's room. There are stacks of them going as far back as when they were looking for their dad. Sam had chronicled everything, and he never mentioned it.

Dean's gaze turns to the innocuous notebook in his hands. Reading it had brought him a strange sense of peace earlier, but now it just seems like a stabbing reminder of what he's lost. The idea of Crowley reading it...

With that thought, Dean realizes that he still thinks of Crowley as the monster who took his brother away. Not all the time. Just when it matters. All Dean can see at the moment is a rundown church and his brother dead and Crowley invading that moment. It comes down to the fact that for all his saying he wants them to be a team, Dean still doesn't want to share Sam with Crowley. He shouldn't have to. Sam is his brother, is Cas and Kevin's friend. He's nothing to Crowley. Not until that last moment. That moment that defined Crowley's place in all this madness.

There's a knock at the door, and Dean hopes that if he's quiet, whoever it is will go away. He can't talk right now. He was doing so well all day, but now he can't seem to hold anything together.

"Dean?" a muffled voice follows the knock. It's Cas.

Dean tosses the book back in the box. Maybe he's not ready. Maybe none of them are. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be.

Mustering some form of composure, Dean goes to the door and opens it. Cas is standing there, looking his usual concerned self.

"Kevin told us what the book was," he says.

Still with the damn book. Dean wishes he'd never opened the box now.

"I understand," Cas goes on. "I mean, I understand your reaction. Not that I could understand how you feel. That would be..."

Dean gives up on expecting this to be a brief conversation and stands aside to let Cas in. He returns to the box, and instead of shoving it out of the way, he picks it up and dumps it over the bed.

Cas looks surprised, but he doesn't say anything.

"I haven't counted," Dean says. "He started them back before we met you. Every hunt we ever did, every fight we ever had is in there."

Cas stares at the pile of plain, brown notebooks, curiosity screaming in his expression. Then he says something Dean doesn't expect. "You haven't talked much about Sam since he died. I think you should."

The matter-of-fact tone, the unfaltering gaze make Dean think that Cas has probably been thinking about this for a while. But it's one thing for Dean to tell Cas about a near death meeting with his brother or let him read the journals, but talking about Sam in the past tense just isn't something Dean thinks he can do for any appreciable amount of time.

"What good would it do?" Dean says in a voice that doesn't sound like his.

"To remind you it was all real, that it mattered, that he's still out there and you'll see him again."

Dean can't remember Cas ever talking about the afterlife in a positive sense before.

"You can't forget," Cas goes on. "Humans aren't meant to forget. There's continuity to your experiences, and Sam fills so much of that. To act as though he never existed would be to deny your purpose for the majority of your life."

Dean is listening, but he's not sure he understands anything Cas is saying. It doesn't matter; it's the way he says it, the unwavering conviction in his voice even as he remains almost stoic. It's that which convinces Dean. Not the words, but the power behind them, that mysterious force the Cas has always been to him.

It's sudden, like a blast of cold water in his face, that Dean remember the first time he thought his life might be worth something.

_You don't think you deserve to be saved._

It's as if chains have finally broken, and Dean finds himself speaking so fast, he can barely keep up with himself. He doesn't realize when this starts, but he knows where it's going.

He's picking up journals and reading aloud and telling his side of the story. Sometimes he laughs; sometimes he can't hold back tears. But he keeps going. It's well past midnight when Dean finally looks at the clock and realizes that he and Cas have been sitting on the floor, going through Sam's journals for three hours. They have just finished organizing them all by date into neat stacks.

On a normal day, Dean would feel a bit stiff from sitting on the unforgiving tile. With broken ribs and already sore muscles, he's not sure he can stand up.

Cas seems to notice that Dean has stopped talking and looks around like he can't remember how he got here. "You should have been sleeping," he says.

"I'm okay," Dean says, but he doesn't move from his spot on the floor while Cas stands.

"Where's your medication?"

"I don't know. Kevin had it."

"I'll go find it."

Dean seems to remember some instructions about taking something four times a day, and realizes that he hasn't had any since this morning. That would explain why he's not even tempted to try pulling himself off the floor right now. If he doesn't move too much, the pain is a tolerable level of excruciating.

Cas comes back in a few minutes and hands Dean his pills and a water bottle. "They went to bed, so I had to look around before I found it," he says. "Do you need to take both?"

Dean thinks about that for a second. He is certain he will be able to sleep tonight on his own. He already feels like dropping off right here on the floor. There are the dreams to consider, but Dean has made up his mind.

"I'll be fine."

When Dean eventually makes it to bed, he falls asleep almost immediately. He does dream. About many things, including the nightmare Sam. But he doesn't wake with the same jolt characteristic of his previous nightmares. He wakes for a moment, knows it's only a dream, and goes back to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>So sad there's no new episode of Supernatural this week, but I plan to keep posting my updates, so that's a plus. Also, if you're interested, there's a new fanfiction site called , and it's really cool. I got to help in the beta testing phase, and I'd recommend checking it out if you're interested. There's a link to my page on my profile if you want to take a look.<strong>


	14. Friends in Low Places

**Chapter Fourteen "Friends in Low Places"**

It's much earlier the following morning when Dean wakes to a pervasive throbbing pain. In the absence of a sleep aid, he finds himself more easily wakened, and that's a comforting thing. It's about the only comforting thing at the moment. It's been who knows how long since Dean's had a shower, but he doesn't feel like going to all the trouble with all the stitches he still has.

He's begun to avoid looking in the mirror. He doesn't want to see the shadow of who he used to be. He would rather just become that person again. Maybe he'll never be all that he was, but he can try. He has to try because he's got work to do.

A short time later, as Dean enters the kitchen, he is surprised to see no one else is around. But he can tell they're up by the dirty dishes in the sink. It's all the same to him. He's used to eating alone. But the silence feels somehow off as he pours a bowl of cereal and sits down. Yesterday, this room was full of noises and smells and bodies, but now it's deserted. Dean has the strange thought that he's had to lose his entire family to start having family meals.

It's not weird to think of Cas and Kevin as his family. Dean's been thinking that for a while now. Crowley is another story. He had been right to say that he'll never be that. But Dean has to get around that. He can't keep simply maintaining the peace.

There are bigger problems, but the bigger ones always seem to be affected by the smaller.

After eating his small breakfast, Dean heads for the library, which seems to be the most likely place to find anyone. Sure enough, Kevin and Crowley are both working with space enough between them for two people. Kevin has transitioned from Enochian to some form of ancient writing that Dean has never seen before. Crowley is then translating rather quickly.

Cas is nowhere to be seen.

Dean pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down across from them. "How's it going?" he asks.

Kevin doesn't look up or show any indication that he heard Dean.

Crowley twirls his pencil. "Don't distract him. Prophecy takes a lot of focus."

Dean has seen Kevin in the zone before. He understands completely. "Where's Cas?" he asks Crowley instead.

"Went to pick up some groceries or something."

"By himself?" Dean's not sure why he suddenly feels his insides twisting around each other.

"He's a big boy," Crowley replies. "I'm sure he's been on plenty of more complicated errands without you holding his hand."

"None of us should be out alone," Dean argues. "We don't know if they might be watching us."

"Then go find him and stop interrupting us. It can't be far; he was on foot."

Dean leaves his untouched coffee and heads for the door. There is a small store within walking distance. Even in his state, he thinks he could make it there. And the exercise might actually help. But he still can't shake the feeling that something could go wrong. Cas is warded against angels, but so was Dean, and they found him somehow.

There is a faint drizzle in the air as Dean leaves the bunker. The sky is a thick gray covering, making it seem much later in the day than is really is. Dean pulls his jacket closed as he starts off slowly down the road.

It's only a few minutes before he sees the familiar tan coat emerging from the fog. He doesn't think to wonder why Cas has suddenly started wearing it again after all this time.

"Dean?" Cas says as he comes closer, carrying a few plastic bags of food. "What are you doing out here?"

"Crowley said you went out," Dean replies, surprised at the breathlessness in his own voice. "You know you shouldn't be alone out here."

"I could not agree more," comes a voice from behind Dean.

Cas drops the bags in the mud, and Dean turns so fast, he can feel the stitches ripping from his skin. There in the middle of the road, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, stands the nameless angel who offered his help when Dean was chained and bleeding.

Dean has his angel sword hidden inside his jacket, but he doesn't go for it immediately. He knows he doesn't stand much of a chance in a straight out fight, but he's not about to trust this guy so easily.

"It was unwise of you to move about alone, Castiel," the angel says. "Bartholomew is sending out more of our brothers to capture you every day. Even I cannot travel freely since I defied him."

"Yeah, why did you do that, by the way?" Dean says, crossing his arms and immediately regretting it.

"I told you that I believe angels should be compassionate, not the power hungry murderers they have become."

Cas stands beside Dean, and he too keeps his guard up. "Angels were never compassionate. We were warriors."

The angel looks distant, as if remembering something long past. "Perhaps I only wanted us to be more than agents of death and destruction."

"Why?" Cas presses the issue.

"If we could become kinder, then it stands to reason that we could be saved."

"Saved?"

"Is that not the eternal offer to humanity? Redemption? Is there no way for an angel to come back from falling? Surely, you Castiel, of all people can understand this."

"As an angel, I never found redemption," Cas replies. "I find that humanity is more well supplied with second chances."

"Be that as it may, my purpose here is to help you, to try to make our brothers see their mistakes. There must be a better way for us."

"They are your brothers. I was disowned long ago, and I would not return."

Dean forgets to keep his attention on the angel for a moment as he turns to give Cas a look of confusion at that last statement.

The angel shakes his head sadly. "As was I, Castiel. I am Gadreel. You may have heard my name spoken in whispers. The traitor. Accursed. Sent to Heaven's prison for millennia for my failings."

Cas actually takes a step back which leaves Dean feeling very unsettled. "Am I missing something here?" Dean asks.

"He was the one who allowed Lucifer into the garden. It is because of him humanity endures so much suffering."

"I was deceived," Gadreel explains. "Just as so many others, even you, Castiel. Though, allow me to correct you; the reason humanity endures so much suffering is because of humanity. I did not force them to fall, nor even did Lucifer, despicable though he is. Do you not understand free will? I was under the impression you made much of that concept."

"You are a traitor," Cas says. "Why would you want to help us?"

"My failures did allow this chaos to be possible. I wish to do what I can to make that right again, and you are the only ones who might help me."

"Why should we trust you?"

"I saved all your lives and fought Bartholomew's soldiers on my own. Risking my life should be cause enough."

Dean has listened carefully during this exchange. He suspects Gadreel is telling the truth, but there's no way to be certain. "I think we've trusted enough," he says. "And it's blown to pieces too many times. If it's all the same to you, I think we'll pass."

Gadreel takes a step closer to Dean, and Dean reaches for his blade, expecting a fight. But Gadreel only reaches out his hand and touches Dean's forehead, instantly healing his injuries. Then he is gone.

**~oOo~**

"So you just said 'no thanks' and he left?"

The four residents of the bunker are gathered in the kitchen as Cas cleans the mud off the groceries he dropped. Having heard the story of what happened on the road, Crowley is not particularly happy.

"I mean, it's not as if you should have trusted him, but you can still get a lot of use out of an angel who's even pretending to help you."

Dean shakes his head before anyone else can respond. "I'd rather know the people on my side are really on my side. There are too many ways for things to go sour if we get close to anyone else."

Kevin's eyes narrow in concentration. "But why would he save you if he's not on our side. He had all three of you. He could have just killed you then, or whatever it was they wanted to do. Why betray Bartholomew if he doesn't want to help?"

"Wanting to help isn't enough," Cas says, not looking at the others as he continues wiping away mud. "Trust is... fragile. It's too much of a risk. Gadreel's cause may align with ours at the moment, but when we put people above agendas, that balance is sure to shift. Angels, for the most part, don't care who gets hurt as long as they achieve their goal."

Dean nods, and it's suddenly much more clear what they're dealing with here. Crowley isn't sure whether he should be annoyed at the fact that the main goal of this group seems to be keeping each other alive at all costs, never mind the angels or whatever else might come their way. It's troubling because he's never been that attached to people in general. It's always better to have a goal of some kind, something objective to work for. But nothing is objective anymore. Everything is feelings and relationships and all the entanglements Crowley tries to avoid. He can't avoid it now, he knows. His life is indebted to the Winchesters, which is not made any easier by the fact that only one of them survives. Sam probably would have just killed him. Put him out of his misery. It's not that humanity is so difficult, but humanity tied up with this bunch is impossible.

There's nothing to be done, of course, save returning to work and wishing in vain for an easy solution to all this.

**~oOo~**

Now that he's back to normal, Dean is much more aware of how slowly things have been going lately. It's not just him. Translation is hard work, and so far, all they have are a lot of pages on angel history and hierarchy. The fact that Dean isn't really helping creates a bigger problem. Crowley had been right all those months ago when he said Dean needed to be out hunting. That's just the way he is. He can't sit still when he wants something done.

Kevin has taken to banning Dean from the library during work hours because he's too distracting. And he feels bad about that because Kevin is working harder than all of them, and if anyone has a right to be frustrated, it's him.

But Dean can't seem to see past the fact that he wants to kill something. Not in a reckless, self-destructive way. Just in his usual, born hunter sort of way. He'd never stopped to think that his job might one day be more dangerous due to outside forces rather than the horrors he faced everyday. Dean would give just about anything right now to run into a vengeful spirit or a nest of vampires. Something simple.

Of course, any time Dean expresses these thoughts, someone inevitably tells him how dangerous it is to be out alone, and that he shouldn't go looking for trouble when he doesn't even have a case. It's then Dean makes a suggestion that he's sure he will live to regret.

"Why don't we just go after the angel bastards then?" he asks as he's clearing up the dishes from the lunch he prepared for the other three so they could keep working.

"And do what?" Cas asks, looking shocked. "Kill them? I thought we were supposed to be better than that."

"I'm not talking about all of them. Just the ones we know are out to get us."

"There are at least five of them, probably a lot more. And who knows what collateral damage we might cause?"

It's been a long time since Cas has expressed irritation toward Dean. And Dean knows he should stop. He should let it go because he hasn't forgotten that these people used to be Cas' family. But he doesn't because he's angry too, and he's tired of doing nothing.

"And who knows what they're doing? What they're planning? Don't we need to stop them? Remember those kids who disappeared? Angels took them. Why?" Dean spreads his arms. "Doesn't this bother anyone else?"

"Of course it does." Cas stands up from his seat, letting bits of scratch paper flutter to the floor. "But it won't do any good for us to take extreme measures without knowing what we're getting into."

"Since when have you been cautious? Cooped up inside with all your _books_. Cas, that's not you."

"Don't tell me who I am. You don't know the first thing about becoming a different _species_! I was one of them. I was powerful. I had a purpose. Now I'm weak and useless. If you want to go get yourself killed, fine, go. I won't stop you, but I can't be part of it."

There's a moment's silence. Then Cas picks up his papers and leaves the room. Kevin pretends he's not paying any attention, and he very well might not be. Crowley turns a page in his notes.

"You two are so cute when you argue," he says.

"Shut up," Dean replies.

"I think you forgot something."

"What?"

Crowley looks up at Dean with an exasperated look on his face. "Humans have feelings. They're not just tools you can use and expect them not to break."

"Nice metaphor."

"Don't be so bloody impossible. Find something to do with yourself that doesn't include murdering your best friend's family, hmm?"

Crowley turns back to his notebook as if that's the end of it.

Dean shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter what Crowley says about Cas. But he's right. They're both right. Dean has been forgetting that Cas is human now and how hard that must be for him. Not things like cooking and personal hygiene, but the fact that he's cut off from his family, and believes that his life no longer has a purpose. Dean knows what that's like. He remembers a time, multiple times, he thought he had nothing to live for. Dean should go talk to Cas. He should apologize for being so thoughtless. He should try to make things better.

But he doesn't. Because this reminds him too much of how it used to be with Sam. The way Dean always tried to make sense of everything, not really understanding that Sam was different from him. That he didn't think and feel the same.

Dean does know what it's like to feel useless. He even knows what it was like to become a different species. If only for a day. And he knows he should tell Cas these things. Just not right now.

Dean's plans are almost immediately derailed when he walks out into the hallway and runs into Cas coming back toward the library. They stand there awkwardly for a moment. Cas looks sheepish.

"Sorry about that," he says. "I have a lot of work to do. I'm sure it's stress or—"

"Cas, it's not your fault," Dean says than he had been using before. "I wasn't thinking about... well, about anything really. I do understand though. What it's like to think your life doesn't mean anything. Why do you think I sold my soul in the first place?"

It's been a long time since Dean has talked about this. Which is a little ironic because it was the whole reason he met Cas in the first place.

Cas gives him that curious head tilt. "I didn't think about that."

"Yeah, well, I should have thought of what it was like when I got turned into a vampire a few years ago."

"What?" Cas seems to be unable to process that last statement.

"It was when Sam didn't have a soul," Dean explains quickly, "and you were God knows where. There's a cure if you've never had human blood, but that's not the point. It was only a day, but I do know what it's like to become something else, and I didn't really consider that it would still be affecting you."

Cas looks even more embarrassed than before. "I overreacted."

"I _was_ talking about killing your family. Which I still wanna do, but only because that's the only way we'll all be safe. I'm not gonna do anything stupid. Promise."

"Is this how it usually works?"

"How what works?"

"Apologies."

"No, usually it takes a lot longer."

Something in Dean knows that it _will_ take much longer to sort all this out, that there's still an unspoken tension in the air as the head back to the library. But for now, he'll consider this a successful resolution. He knows that if he presses the issue, he's likely to whatever stupid things he's just promised Cas he won't.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there are things about this chapter I love, and things I don't, but I think it does what I wanted it to do. I'm not sure if anyone will be surprised that Gadreel was the mysterious angel. Mostly, I just wanted to use him because we never really got to delve into his motivations in the show, so that's what will be happening with him. Maybe next week, we will get a better idea of why he's doing what he's doing, but in the context of this story, season 9 as a whole doesn't count, so everything is going to be different anyway. I'm just about finished with the next chapter, so hopefully I'll be able to get ahead of things more this week. I hate not having a stash of chapters ready especially since I'm a bit unclear as to what will happen next. But I'll work on that this week and hopefully have a better idea by the time I post chapter 15.<br>**


	15. You Need to Get out More

**Chapter Fifteen "You Need to Get out More"**

Dean has never been very good at taking his own advice. At the moment, staying underground seems more dangerous to his continued health that going out alone. He's used to looking after himself without special powers or backup. Of course, grocery shopping has never been the same since his encounter with April. He is suspicious of everyone. He never goes to the same store twice. Some days he drives hours out of his way just to break up the pattern. He also begins to stock up on things like ammunition. Just a little bit at a time. Not that traditional weapons are of any use against angels, but it makes him feel better when he wastes most of it on target practice.

Nobody bothers following Dean down to the shooting range anymore, and he almost wishes someone would. He would say, if anyone asked, that he prefers being alone, but it's a different kind of alone than he's used to. The kind of alone that always makes him wish he had given up this life years ago because it's not worth it. He knows he'd never really give up, but he doesn't like feeling that he would anyway.

When it starts to feel like too much to bear, Dean throws himself into taking care of everyone else. He cooks and cleans and keeps them well supplied with coffee and blank notebooks. He reigns in the impulse to ask for an update every ten minutes, but this is taking too damn long.

When he runs out of improvements to make on his car, he starts working on the other vehicles in the bunker garage. It's a decent distraction for a while because they're all old and all in need of some fine tuning.

At night, Dean still has dreams about Sam. Real Sam and nightmare Sam. He doesn't pay much attention to them anymore. But then he starts seeing that tiny room where the angels held him. It changes every time. Some nights it's more of a memory of what happened there. Other times, it's Sam holding the knife. Once Dean looks up to realize that Sam is chained to the wall, and there's blood on his hands. He's woken up shouting several nights in a row, but no one comes this time, and Dean is grateful for that. There's something particularly upsetting about Cas seeing him like that. He can't quite put his finger on what it is, but something about showing that kind of weakness doesn't sit well with Dean.

It seems that as the dreams get worse, the silence in the bunker grows. Kevin hasn't spoken for days. Cas only talks if he has to. Even Crowley is not as annoying as he usually is. All of which leads Dean to think that something is terribly wrong. Not that they've found out anything about their enemies. More like the opposite. They don't know anything, and are unlikely to any time soon.

Sometimes, Dean literally bites his tongue to avoid reiterating his suggestion of tracking and killing the angels that took him. Finding them isn't the problem. Even killing them would be doable. But Cas especially seems to think that they need to know what the angels are doing, what their plans are. Dean knows he should care about that too, but he can't bring himself to pretend. So he just doesn't say anything. He promised not to go off on his own. He knows that keeping everyone together, being a family—whatever that's worth—takes a lot of compromise.

At the end of the day when Dean cleans up the kitchen alone and makes sure the coffeepot is still going, he can't help thinking this isn't how it's supposed to be. Kevin barely sleeps anymore, and Cas and Crowley aren't much better.

Dean always goes out after breakfast. Sometimes, he doesn't even go anywhere, he just walks down the gravel road, deeper into the forest where he knows he won't run into anyone. Unless they're looking for him, in which case, he's itching for a fight anyway.

It doesn't come though. Dean is perfectly alone this morning, and he feels the weight of it so strongly that he slumps against a tree and stares up at the gray sky.

"Sam?" he says, not really knowing why. "I don't think you can hear me, but I don't—" Dean closes his eyes and sighs. This is stupid. Sam can't hear him, and he couldn't help even if he could. Dean opens his eyes again and feels them burning. "I don't know what to do," he says in a flat voice that doesn't sound much like his. "You said I have to keep fighting, but what if I can't? I can't keep this up. I can't keep everyone together if this is how it's going to go. If you were here—" Dean lets out a sharp noise like a laugh that isn't really a laugh. "—If you were here this wouldn't be a problem. You'd know what to do. You'd keep everyone together."

Dean runs his hands along the rough bark of the tree behind him, digging his fingers into the cracks. He slows his breathing and listens to the woods around him. There's nothing out there, no insects chirping or birds singing. Only the faint, distant rustle of wind in the trees that always sounds a bit like running water.

Dean wishes he could run. He wishes he could just get into his car and start driving and never stop. This is not the first time in his life he's wished he couldn't feel anything. Because he feels too much; he always has. The trees seem too close, and he feels as if he's suffocating. That old, ugly twist in his heart that says he should just end all this is beginning to rear its ugly head.

The noise of the wind seems to stop. The whole world stops. Dean isn't thinking about his promises, his obligations. He's not even thinking about Sam. And that brings him back to reality. He doesn't want the pain to end because of Sam. He wants it for himself. That makes it easier to let it go. Dean can be selfless when he tries.

He pushes himself off the tree and starts walking back toward the bunker. He knows nothing will be better, but he also knows he won't give up.

**~oOo~**

When the coffee runs out mid-morning, Castiel has to go to the kitchen in search of fresh grounds. the container they keep in the library has somehow been emptied in what seems a very short amount of time. Or perhaps, Castiel has very little concept of time since starting this translation project. It's not as if it's especially interesting or difficult, though Enochian to English can be tricky. Crowley seems to be having an easier time with his ancient cuneiform.

They still haven't made much progress in terms of useful information. They have pages and pages of minutiae that doesn't do them much good in their current situation. Kevin hasn't slept in days. Dean is always forcing him to eat and trying to get him to take a break. When he's not around, Castiel brings Kevin coffee and snacks throughout the day.

As he refills the coffee and heads back to the library, Castiel wonders where exactly Dean goes while they're working. He hasn't spared much time to talk to his friend over the last few days—or has it been weeks? Their conversation in the hallway that was meant to resolve everything seems only to have covered over their problems with a thin veneer of cooperation. The fact is that Dean still needs something to do, something useful, and preferably something that won't get him killed.

Once the coffee maker is going again, Castiel decides to take a break from translating and borrow Kevin's computer. He knows he still has a lot to learn about the ins and outs of the Internet, but he can manage a little research. Of course, he doesn't have a lot of experience in sorting out the weird from the truly supernatural. But he is determined. If he can find something to keep Dean busy, it's the least he can do for the promise not to engage the angels yet.

By the end of an hour, Castiel has printed out several articles for Dean to look at and decide if any of them look suspicious enough. Then the trouble becomes finding Dean. After taking a brief look around the bunker, careful not to get lost, he returns to the library.

"Do you know where Dean went?" he asks Crowley because it's useless talking to Kevin.

Crowley finishes writing out a sentence before looking up. "He normally goes out in the mornings. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Where does he go?"

Crowley shrugs. "What do you need him for?"

Castiel hesitates, not sure if he wants to share his thoughts with Crowley. But he can't exactly hide what he's been doing either. "I found some cases for him to look at," he says as casually as he can manage.

Crowley doesn't seem to notice the hesitation. "Can't he do that on his own?"

"Yes, but he doesn't. It's not exactly fair to keep him trapped here while we work, and we could take turns going with him."

Crowley looks over at Kevin for a moment. The prophet is still oblivious to all that's going on around him. "Someone should take _him_ outside too."

"Maybe we should all go." Castiel doesn't really think this is a good idea, but it's probably better than them all staying here.

Crowley turns back to Castiel. "It concerns me greatly that I agree with you."

Castiel suppresses a shudder. "The feeling is mutual."

**~oOo~**

When Dean returns to the bunker just before lunchtime, he finds Cas and Crowley deep in conversation over a pile of computer printouts. They don't seem to notice that he's returned, and Kevin is still zoned out at the other table with the tablet in his hands.

"Do I need to be worried about you two?" he asks as leans against the door frame and crosses his arms.

The two of them finally notice Dean standing there, and they look positively conspiratorial. Crowley tries to appear innocent. "We were just planning the family vacation," he says with put on cheeriness.

Dean finds it in himself to be amused. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not gonna like this?"

"Oh, you will. If we can only settle on the destination."

"Let him decide," Cas says. "He's the expert."

"Expert at what?"

"I should think that would be obvious," Crowley says, holding out the stack of papers. "Pick one. Just not the gruesome deaths in New Jersey. I strongly suspect they're completely mundane."

Dean comes over to stand beside the table and takes the articles. "You're talking about cases?"

"Well, you're moping, and Kevin's about to have a nervous breakdown." Crowley shrugs. "About time we all got out of the house."

Dean flips through the pages, not really paying attention to them. "Where'd you get these?"

"On the Internet," Cas replies. "It's really quite useful once you get past all the advertisements."

"_You_ found them?"

"Yes. I believe it's called a search engine. Like an index, only faster."

"You used the Internet?"

"Yes. Why are you surprised? I believe you are surprised. I'm still not good at vocal inflection."

"Yeah, this is surprise, Cas. I thought you hated computers."

"I do. Mostly. They have their uses. Like toilets or vacuum cleaners. They aren't pleasant, but they serve a purpose."

Dean laughs and pulls out an article from the stack. "How about this one. Looks like vampires in Wisconsin."

Cas and Crowley exchange a look that Dean doesn't understand.

"What?" he asks.

Crowley smirks. "That was the only one we both considered worth looking into."

Dean nods, not sure what to make of that. "Fine. Somebody get Kevin away from that thing, and I'll pack up the car."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm really glad to be getting the boys out of the house. Their little excursion should be much more interesting than a few vampires, and I'm excited for where the story is going. I've got the next chapter finished and some of the one after that which is very comforting for me. I don't like not having extra chapters finished when I update.<strong>


	16. Road Trip

**Chapter Sixteen "Road Trip"**

Disentangling Kevin from the tablet and getting everyone packed up is more complicated than it should be. But Dean finally gets everyone ready and in the car. They stop for fast food on the way out of town, and Dean tries not to let it show just how much he's enjoying himself. He's got a real job for the first time in months. His companions might be a little ragtag, but he knows it will work out. He just has a good feeling about the whole thing.

A few miles up the interstate, Kevin falls asleep, curled up in the backseat. Crowley grumbles about the music. Cas is actually smiling, watching the scenery change as the miles go by.

"We're gonna need to get Kevin a suit," Dean says at one point.

"Why does he need a suit?" Crowley asks, maintaining an air of annoyance.

"Because he's going with you to talk to the police once we get there."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure it will be very credible to have a 12 year old agent."

"I'm nineteen," Kevin mutters, as if just waking. Clearly he has heard the whole conversation.

Nineteen. Kevin is nineteen. Dean can hardly remember being that young, that carefree, even with the life he had. He'd never seen the things Kevin has at that age. But even then, he had given up all thoughts of a normal life. He knew he'd never get to have a family or go to college. At the time, he didn't think he'd ever want to. Dean knows Kevin isn't like that. Kevin had wanted to do something with his life. Something about being the first Asian-American president of the United States. Now he was sleeping in the back of Dean's car on the way to impersonate a federal agent in hopes of tracking down some vampires.

"Don't most agents have to be college graduates?" Crowley asks, continuing the conversation.

"I was in advanced placement," Kevin says. "You could always say I'm a genius if it comes up."

"Right, genius. When's the last time you had a shower?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Our working relationship is off to a bad start if I have to ride all the way to Wisconsin with your stench."

"It's so nice when they get along, isn't it?" Dean says, looking over at Cas.

"I'm detecting a bit of sarcasm," Cas replies in an ironic tone.

Dean smiles and refocuses on the road ahead. He may have to separate Kevin and Crowley at some point, but for now, the joking is good natured enough.

It's dark by the time they stop for gas, and Kevin is really sleeping by now, so hard that he doesn't wake as the lights of the nearby convenience store stream through the Impala windows. Dean takes care of the car while Crowley and Cas go inside to get some snacks.

As he watches the numbers tick by, Dean wonders where this trip is going to land them. It could be a way of bringing everyone closer together, of sorting out some issues. Or it could just make them all hate each other. Hunting has a tendency to bring out the best or worst in people. So far, it seems to be okay. Crowley is being his usual self, and Cas seems genuinely happy. Kevin still hasn't recovered from days of sleep deprivation, so that one's still up in the air.

When the other two return to the car, Cas says he wants to sleep for a while, so he takes the backseat with Kevin. Crowley offers to drive, which Dean politely but vehemently refuses. They're on the road again after only a few minutes' stop, which is pretty good for a group that's never all hunted together before.

Soon, Dean can see two sleeping bodies in the back when he looks in the rearview mirror. Crowley doesn't say anything for a while, but when he does start speaking, it seems that he's trying to be sure the others are really asleep.

"Have you given much thought to Kevin?" he asks.

"Much thought about what?" Dean replies. Of course he has, but he's not sure where this is going.

"Well, he's certainly hardworking, but a bit... fanatical."

"What do you mean?"

"This whole thing with the tablet. He hasn't slept in at least three days. It's like the thing takes over his mind when he looks at it."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know? And that doesn't bother you?"

"He got like this last time. Not much I can do except make sure he eats and keep an eye on him."

"And have you been 'keeping an eye on him'?"

"Not 24/7, but someone's always there."

"No, someone is not."

"How's that?"

"Well, I actually can sleep, and Cas has a tendency of conking out sitting up. So, yes, there are plenty of times that Kevin the Prophet is completely unsupervised."

"I think he can handle it. Taking a break should help."

"I suppose he can. What do I know? But there's more to it."

"Meaning?"

"He sees an end. He works through the night because he thinks it won't last forever. I am of the opinion that we should disabuse him of this notion."

"And do what? Tell him he's going to be miserable forever, just like the rest of us?"

"Isn't he?"

"No."

"What gives you that idea?"

"He's—I don't know. He's just not like us."

"I find your use of the first person plural simultaneously heartwarming and disturbing."

"Kevin will be okay. He has to be."

"Why? Because he's the closest thing you'll ever have to a little brother again?"

"Shut up."

"You always say that when I'm right about something. Kevin isn't Sam. And may I remind you that Sam didn't have such a happy ending either."

Dean doesn't really notice the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel or how he can't hear the radio in the background. He does notice the blurring at the edges of his vision. "Crowley—"

"Never mind. I'll shut up."

Dean looks briefly over at Crowley, and in that small glance, he sees something he didn't expect to see there. Sadness. Remorse.

Dean stares at the white lines ahead of him. He doesn't know what to do with Crowley most of the time. But what's he supposed to say to something like this?

**~oOo~**

It's late when Dean pulls up to a motel just outside of Monroe, Wisconsin. He decides to make the sacrifice of sharing a room with Crowley since he's the only one who's gotten a reasonable amount of sleep lately. Kevin sort of looks like a zombie as Cas guides him to their room.

Dean figures on staying up most of the night anyway. He's never been able to sleep long on a hunt, much less so with Crowley's snoring. It gives him time to look over the case again and formulate a plan. Usually, Sam would do the research part, but Dean is perfectly capable.

It still feels incredibly lonely, sitting at the tiny table by the window, listening to Crowley's growing sinus infection, a half empty beer bottle in his hand. Dean's not sure when he finally realizes that he's just reading the same information over and over again without really seeing it. He waits to hear Sam's voice telling him to focus on the job, telling him he should get some sleep, telling him it's all gonna be okay.

Dean jolts awake, suddenly aware that he's been dreaming. A sharp pain stabs down his neck from falling asleep sitting up. The computer screen has gone dark in the time since Dean fell asleep. Crowley's snores have settled to a soft rumbling.

Rubbing his eyes and pulling himself out of the chair, Dean crosses the room to where he left his duffle bag. He knows he won't accomplish much more tonight, so he might as well sleep. After he's changed and turned out the lights, he crawls into the bed closest to the door and stares at the muted light coming in through the threadbare curtains. For a moment, he lets himself think that this is a normal job and Sam is sleeping just across the room, that when he wakes in the morning, this will all be a long forgotten dream.

Dean is jarred from these thoughts when a shadow passes in front of the window. It's an odd hour for someone to be walking by, but it could be nothing. But Dean's mind doesn't compute the idea of coincidence, so he quietly gets up and crosses to the window. As his eyes adjust to the streetlights, he sees a retreating form in a beige trenchcoat crossing the parking lot. There can't be a lot of reasons for Cas to be taking a walk at three AM.

A part of Dean thinks he should chase after Cas and ask what he's doing. Another part remembers that he's in his pajamas, and what business is it of his anyway? Maybe Cas can't sleep. It wouldn't be all that surprising. So, Dean returns to bed and stares up at the ceiling, wondering what's troubling his friend and what, if anything, he can do to help.

**~oOo~**

It's cold in the vacant field across from the motel, and Castiel is glad he's started wearing his coat again. The blood came out nicely, but his white shirt was ruined. He has acquired many new articles of clothing since then, but he still misses his old suit even if it wasn't very practical for a human.

The field isn't vacant for long as Castiel stands there in the muddy grass. He feels the presence before he sees it, and perhaps he is not completely disconnected from the angels.

"I am surprised you called me," Gadreel says as he stands several yards away from Castiel.

"I have been thinking about what you said," Castiel replies. "There is a problem with the other angels, and I do have an obligation to help. But I'm not sure what good I could do."

"That has always been your strength, Castiel. You do not think you are strong. You do not think you are the hero of any story."

"My attempts to resolve the problems of Heaven have resulted in nothing but death."

"And yet, here you are. Calling upon me. Perhaps it is your determination that keeps you alive."

"A very human trait."

"Humanity may be just what the angels need."

"That would be impossible."

"I do not mean that we should make them all as you are. What I do mean is that a better understanding of humanity might profit us. I have seen first hand the innate stubbornness of your race."

_Your race_. Castiel has never felt like a part of humanity except when he speaks to those who are not. "What are you suggesting?"

"It could be a job for the prophet. You have access to his findings?"

"Yes, I've been helping with translations."

"Stay focused on that. Your little adventures in hunting could prove to be a distraction."

"Variety is necessary for human mental health."

Gadreel angles his head in concession. "As you say. Call on me if you have need. I must go. Bartholomew's soldiers are on my trail, as I planned. This will keep them away from you while you work. Be as quick as you can."

He disappears without waiting for a response, and Castiel is left standing alone in the field again, wondering what the hell he's doing and if the twisting in his stomach is just a result of too much fast food and the long drive.

**~oOo~**

In the morning, Crowley leaves early to take Kevin shopping before they meet with the local police. Dean doesn't envy Kevin his morning in the slightest. But he's not exactly looking forward to his own. He and Cas find a diner and sit down to breakfast before heading out to check the site of the most recent disappearance. Through the course of the meal, Dean keeps making up his mind to ask Cas about the night before and then thinking better of it, resulting in an awkward silence. Whatever it is, Cas probably doesn't want to talk about it. But Dean knows that if he doesn't ask, he'll always be wondering if something is going on. Not that he thinks Cas would start keeping secrets now. That's never worked well for them in the past, and as close as they've been lately, what need would they have of secrecy?

But are they as close as Dean thinks? They did have a pretty big argument a while back, and they never really got on the same page about that.

_No_, Dean thinks. _That can't be it. Can it?_

Meanwhile, Cas eats robotically, never taking his eyes off the casefile they brought with them. He must have read the same page 100 times by now.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean finally says. No going back now.

Cas looks up with wide eyes as if he's just realized Dean is there. "Yes?" he replies.

"You okay? I mean... you've been reading that thing all morning. You sleep okay?"

"Why would you ask?" Cas seems genuinely confused, but that's normal for him.

"It's just, I mean I wasn't watching or anything, but I saw you walk by the window last night."

There's that deer in the headlights look, and Cas doesn't say anything.

"Are you having trouble sleeping or...?"

"Yes." Cas blinks for the first time since the conversation started. "I didn't want to bother Kevin, so I went for a walk."

It's obvious that Cas is telling the truth, but Dean has a feeling there's more to it than just one sleepless night.

"Okay, well... be careful," Dean finishes lamely.

He can't put his finger on what exactly is bothering him about all this, so he might as well keep it to himself for now. Cas might just get offended that Dean is being so suspicious. He knows he would be annoyed if someone interrogated him about how little he sleeps.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading once again. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think of the new developments with the characters. This story is getting to be a lot longer and more complicated than I thought it would be. Honestly, I figured killing off Sam would be shooting myself in the foot in terms of plot, but it hasn't come out that way.<strong>

**I've been working on some other ideas for Supernatural stories, but we'll have to wait and see how those turn out and how long this one goes on. In any case, stay tuned.**


	17. Vampires in Wisconsin

**Chapter Seventeen "Vampires in Wisconsin"**

Hate is a strong word, and Kevin hates Crowley. No amount of expensive cappuccino is going to make up for dragging him out of bed at this ungodly hour of the morning and making him try on suits. The whole thing makes Kevin wonder why Dean ever thought it was a good idea to give Crowley free reign of the credit cards. Nothing seems to make him happy. That suit doesn't fit well; this one fits _too _well. Kevin is supposed to be some agent in training, so he doesn't know why they don't just get the cheapest suit they can find. But Crowley actually seems to be enjoying this. Like getting every detail perfect is some kind of rush for him.

It doesn't help matters that they took a bus an hour out of their way to find a store so that no one in Monroe would recognize them from their little fashion adventure.

By the time Crowley is finally satisfied, it's already late morning, and Kevin is starving. They pick up what should have been breakfast on their way to the police station. Crowley goes over the plan which mostly involves Kevin following along and not talking too much. He can do that. He's better at observation anyway.

When they enter the police station, Crowley becomes another person. He's still charming and effusive, but he's suddenly an American FBI agent. If Kevin didn't known better, he would believe it without question. He plays the role of attentive agent in training as best he can. No one pays him any mind as Crowley talks and cajoles.

Maybe Dean was right about this. Not the Kevin will ever say so.

He wonders absently what Dean and Cas are doing and if they're finding anything interesting. He wouldn't want to be where they are much more than he wants to be where he is now. Hunting just isn't his thing. He'd rather be back in the bunker working, but someone (or all of them) thought he needed time away from the tablet.

Kevin brings his attention back to the moment. There's a dead body on a table in the morgue, and Crowley is acting like this is just another day. Of course he is. The man is accustomed to blood and death. Kevin will never be. He refuses. He remembers the conversation in the car about how young and inexperienced he is. But that's not it. He's just not like them. He can handle the insanity, but he won't ever see it as normal. He'll always want something else.

In that sense, Kevin is torn. He loves Dean. They're family. But there's no question that the last Winchester will never have a normal life. And Kevin couldn't leave him alone even if they weren't facing what they are. Maybe if the time ever comes that Kevin has a chance to get out, he'll go, knowing Dean has Cas to keep him sane. Kevin doesn't know. He'll figure it out when he comes to that.

The coroner talks about how the victim died, and Crowley disguises his questions expertly. Kevin absorbs everything, letting the information filter through his mind, making connections, storing away questions for later. He may not actually be of any use on this trip, but he can't know when any of these details will come in handy.

**~oOo~**

Dean drives the Impala out the highway in what he thinks is companionable silence. He has no idea what Cas is thinking or what's going on with him in general, but they don't have to talk now. They're working, and that's a good thing.

There's police tape and lots of tire treads where the last victim was found: a girl no one realized was missing until she didn't show up for class on Monday morning. She was 16. The police have already been over the scene, contaminating any useful evidence in Dean's mind. But it's still worth looking at. There are no signs of struggle or blood or lost teeth which probably means this is just a dump site. That in itself is troubling.

"Why would they leave their victims where people could find them?" Dean wonders aloud. "It's like they're inviting someone to come looking."

"Maybe to draw in more victims?" Cas suggests half-heartedly.

Dean shakes his head. "No, vampires gotta keep under the radar if they want to stay in one spot long. They wouldn't risk attracting hunters or even too many questions. It could compromise the nest. I mean, it's not unheard of for them to get sloppy, but this almost seems to perfect."

"How are four deaths in 30 days perfect?"

"That's another thing. There must be a lot of them if they need that many. And why haven't they shown up before? A nest that size doesn't pop up overnight."

"Perhaps their carelessness caused them to move from another area. Other hunters could have detected them."

"That's possible. Still doesn't explain why they're still being so careless, but maybe they're just stupid."

"I suppose you could contact some other hunters to see if anything like this has happened before."

"Not really."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, pretty much all my contacts are dead. Or AWOL. Or teenagers."

"There's really no one?"

"Bobby and Ellen are dead. Garth is God knows where. There was that girl, Chrissy, but like I said, she's just a kid."

"You don't know a lot of people, do you?"

"Can't seem to keep an extended circle of acquaintances alive very long. Why do you think I'm working this job with the three of you?"

Cas nods slowly. "Yes, I suppose if there had been anyone else, you would have been hunting a lot more in recent days."

"No, it's not even that," Dean admits. "I just... after everything, well, I wouldn't want to hunt with anyone else. Any outsiders."

Cas is momentarily silent. "Oh," he finally says. "That makes sense."

Cas turns away from Dean, looking over the small clearing again. The trees rise up around them like ominous portents of the obstacles they will have to face. On this trip. Or in their lives.

The scene doesn't really yield much, and they spend more time there than they need to, but soon enough, they're on the road back to town. Dean hopes that Crowley and Kevin will have found out more during their visit with the police. He knows that hunting is never easy. It's a mystery that takes time to be solved, but he doesn't want to wait until they have more drained bodies in the forest before he tracks down these monsters and gives them the decapitation they deserve.

**~oOo~**

Upon leaving the police station, Kevin's thoughts are still all jumbled. Maybe he's still not over those sleepless nights and strenuous translating. Maybe he just needs to rest longer before going out in the world. But there's something nagging at him, something bigger than a few vampires or an uncomfortable suit.

Crowley has decided that they might as well walk back to the motel, which gives Kevin far more time to realize what it is that's bothering him than he really needs. By the second block, he knows he has to do something about it.

"Can I ask you something?" he begins, politely as he can so as not to alienate Crowley before the conversation begins.

But the former demon seems to already know what's on Kevin's mind, better than Kevin knows himself. And he has the decency to look unnerved. "If you must," he says with a hint of resignation.

"Did you kill my mom?" Might as well get down to it.

"No," Crowley says, staring straight ahead. "She was dead when I found her."

Kevin doesn't know where to go with that, how to ask what happened.

But Crowley doesn't make him ask anymore. "She escaped because my assistant was a moron. I put him out of his misery for that. But your mother had run into the woods, and by the time I caught up with her, she was dead."

"That's it?" Kevin says. He doesn't know what he had expected, but this isn't it. "Why didn't you just tell me that before?"

"Before? When I was still trying to use her against you or after I became human? If the first, well, that's pretty self explanatory, if the second... you never asked."

Kevin stops in the middle of the sidewalk and stares, not knowing whether he should be angrier at Crowley or himself. "I have to _ask_?" His voice takes on a hissing quality. "I have to ask you what happened to my mom when you're the only one who knows?"

"You can imagine, I wasn't in a hurry to have this conversation." Crowley has also halted and faces Kevin straight on.

It's not so much that Crowley isn't sorry. He is. Kevin can tell that just by the way he talks. He doesn't have to say it. Maybe that's the problem. It would be easier to keep on hating Crowley if he didn't feel anything about what he did.

Kevin isn't sure if it's easier that Crowley didn't actually kill his mom. It was still his fault. But Kevin realizes that it's his own fault in a way that Sam is dead. And Cas has killed plenty of people by his own hand. Who knows what crazy, awful stuff Dean has done. None of them is completely innocent.

They start walking again in silence. There's nothing left to say, and Kevin doesn't know what that will mean for them. He's spent all this time believing that Crowley had killed his mom or ordered her killed, but knowing she escaped, knowing she had almost made it back to him somehow hurts more than living with her assumed killer all this time.

Soon enough, they come to an alley that makes for a nice shortcut to the motel. It's so quiet that Kevin almost thinks something might be up, but he doesn't have time to do anything about it before he feels a massive weight drop down on him. His face hits the pavement, and he feels blood drip into his eyes.

"Smell that?" says a raspy voice above him.

Kevin regains the presence of mind to start struggling, but he can barely move his head enough to see that he's surrounded by feet. Someone is practically sitting on him.

"Not yet," a tense female voice says. "We're taking them with us."

"Let's not be hasty," Crowley interrupts.

Kevin can't see him, but he hopes this means he's about to be rescued.

"You wanna make a big bloody mess?" the female asks. "You're outnumbered, and you'd just end up dead. We don't want to kill you. We want the other one. You're gonna come with us, and you're gonna live for your cooperation."

"Well, as long as you're being reasonable." There's a clinking noise. Crowley has handed over his weapon.

Someone pulled Kevin to his feet, and through the one eye he can see out, he observes a team of four vampires hauling him and Crowley back the way they came.

* * *

><p><strong>I seem to like getting my characters captured by villains at every turn. I would apologize, but... I'm not really sorry. I promise this detour will lead back to the main plot. I just like going the scenic route for some reason.<br>**


	18. Long Time Coming

**Chapter Eighteen "Long Time Coming"**

They should have been back hours ago. Dean finds himself wondering if this is what parents feel like when their kids are out late. He wouldn't know. His dad never worried about those things.

Kevin and Crowley have been gone since early morning, and it's already late afternoon. It can't take that long to meet up with some clueless, small town detectives. Unless they got caught impersonating feds. But that would never happen because Crowley can weasel his way out of anything. Maybe they got a lead. They'd come back, though, wouldn't they? They'd call. But neither is answering his phone, and hasn't been for the last three hours.

Cas remains quiet, with that deep thinking expression on his face, and Dean has no idea what's going through his head right now. He's got enough trouble reigning in his own thoughts. He remembers that time Sam got taken by vampires when they were working with Gordon. But they had been innocent. With the current body count, Dean can't bring himself to be so optimistic. Whatever this nest is up to, they don't want to be interrupted, and the presence of hunters is a huge threat. It wouldn't be surprising for them to try to eliminate the problem.

Dean thinks he should have seen this coming. He shouldn't have left them unprotected. But Crowley is an accomplished fighter in his own right. There was no reason to think he wouldn't be able to take care of himself. Kevin, on the other hand...

"What are you thinking?" Cas' voice cuts through the silence. That rough, almost toneless sound Dean has come to associate with trust and security.

"You don't wanna know," he replies, staring at the wall in a vain attempt to focus on something.

"Yes. I do." There's no persuasion. Just the statement.

"I'm thinking we've been made," Dean says, finally looking at Cas. "I'm thinking we need to find these blood sucking sons of bitches on the off chance that Kevin and Crowley are still alive."

"You're sure they've been taken by vampires."

"There's no other explanation."

"The angels could have come for us."

"They're warded, and the angels want you, not them."

"Gadreel found us in Kansas."

"That still doesn't explain why they'd take the others and not us. But it's not surprising the vampires know we're here."

"You're probably right. I suppose I'm worried about nothing."

"That what's been bothering you?"

"Do we have time to talk about it now?"

"No, not really."

"So where do we go from here?"

"We find the bloodsuckers. Unless they don't plan on using them for food or bargaining, Kevin and Crowley will still be alive."

"And how long do they have in that case?"

"Four victims in 30 days? Maybe a week. Usually, I'd say two or three, but this nest must be bigger than the ones I've faced. Except the one that was stealing donated blood. Guess I killed all of them too."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Where was Sam?"

"Soulless and human. That was when I was... kind of a vampire."

"Oh. But you still took out an entire nest on your own."

"Yeah, then and that time with Benny, but we can reminisce later. We need to find out where this nest holes up. Abandoned buildings are usually best."

"I'm assuming there's a better way to find them than just driving around checking every building we find?"

"Yeah, we should ask some locals. Without looking suspicious. So... let me do the talking, okay?"

**~oOo~**

Kevin opens his eyes to a dim light coming from somewhere far away. He hadn't meant to fall asleep when the vampires shoved him and Crowley into an old van. He'd been planning on paying attention to their route, but that bump on the head must have taken enough out of him that he lost consciousness. Hopefully, Crowley had been more focused.

The man himself is sitting up across from Kevin. They're on a dirty concrete floor covered in old blankets with the stench of sweat and blood. Around them is a wall of metal bars covered in chicken wire. The ceiling of the cage is low enough that neither of them would be able to stand. As Kevin looks around, he can see that there are many more cages, all of them empty.

Though his head is pounding, though he can still feel blood dried on his forehead and blurring his vision, Kevin pulls himself up off the floor and drags his body closer to where Crowley sits.

"Why did you surrender?" he asks.

Crowley looks at Kevin as if he's just noticed him. "There were four of them, and the second I moved, that enormous bloke was going to break your neck," Crowley replies. "This way, we have a better chance of escaping or being rescued."

"You really think Dean and Cas can take on all the vampires? There must be more than those four."

"I think Dean could take on the whole bloody nest on his own if we let him."

"We're not going to do that?"

"No, we are not."

"So, you have a plan?"

"I'm working on it."

"Okay... Have you seen any of them?"

"A few. They keep going into that back room. I think the leader is in there."

"Anyone mention anything about eating us?"

Crowley give Kevin a bemused look. "They haven't spoken to me. I think we're the bait."

"Yeah, didn't that girl say they wanted 'the other one' or something like that?"

"I think we know who that is."

"I never really thought about it, but monsters must hate him."

"Having been a monster, I can say with certainty that they do. In fact, I doubt if there's anyone a supernatural creature hates more than Dean Winchester. He has a... reputation."

"So we're the bait, and they want to kill him. Where's your angle on that?"

"I don't _always _have an angle."

"Yes you do."

Crowley looks as if he'd like to be surprised by that but really isn't. "Fine," he says. "But considering my _angle _is to keep the humans in this equation alive, you could be a little less accusatory."

"You weren't always so invested in keeping people alive."

"Are we still on that?"

"Do you expect me to forget?"

Crowley seems to be thinking for a moment. He watches the door as if someone could come bursting through at any moment. "No," he finally says. "But now really isn't the time to discuss it."

"Right," Kevin agrees. "We've got bigger problems."

"Not really, but I think I'd prefer to postpone this conversation if I'm just going to die anyway. Assuming we live through this... well, then we can talk about it all you want."

"Why would you do that?" Kevin can't seem to wrap his head around the idea of Crowley doing anything for someone else that he doesn't absolutely have to do.

"Because none of this is your fault. There are actually people who don't deserve this much pain."

Once again, Kevin is left speechless. This new Crowley makes him a sort of uncomfortable that nothing can compare to. He can't think of anything he'd like less than to continue the discussion at any point in his life, but he also knows that it's essential that they do. They're going to have to live with each other for a long time if they get out of this alive. Sooner or later, they will have to resolve the animosity between them. And Kevin is beginning to believe that he's the only one still feeling it.

"You know how you said I always have an angle?" Crowley asks, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" Kevin replies.

"It might be time for you to start thinking of one because I'm running out of ideas."

**~oOo~**

Last chance. This has to be it. Dean can't take it much longer. Gathering the information that led to this search was easy compared to discovering that, one by one, the abandoned buildings were, in fact, abandoned. This is the last place the vampires could be hiding. The last place he might find his friends.

It's always the last place you look.

Cas rides shotgun in silence, and Dean can't remember a time they have been so quiet. It hasn't even been since they discovered Kevin and Crowley were missing. It's since Cas took a walk in the middle of the night. No. Since they argued back at the bunker. Weeks ago. They've been too quiet since then.

It's getting dark when they pull off the road, out of sight of the old farmhouse in the distance. There are several buildings, including a large barn and various other outbuildings. For a moment, Dean sits behind the wheel and watches. He could easily be looking for signs of life, movement, tire tracks. But he isn't. He's just staring at the house, hoping this is the place they're looking for.

He doesn't notice when he lets out a long sigh and Cas looks at him with concern.

"Are you okay?" Cas asks, drawing Dean's attention away from the house.

"Yeah, sure," Dean replies. "Let's go check it out."

The follow the same procedure the have every time previous, retrieving weapons from the trunk. Cas sticks with the angel sword, even though it's a little more difficult to decapitate someone than it would be with a longer blade. Dean takes his old battered machete, and they each carry a pouch of syringes holding dead man's blood. The familiarity of it all gives Dean enough distraction to think about tactics rather than all the possible outcomes of this raid. He's never liked the way you have to sneak up on a vampire nest. The fighting is all close combat, which he doesn't mind, but it would be nice to have some kind of projectiles to lob at these monsters. But it doesn't work that way. So, Dean starts thinking about how he's going to play this out. They don't really stand much of a chance against a nest this big, but the odds have never been in Dean's favor, and that hasn't stopped him before.

Cas walks alongside Dean, quiet as a breath, and Dean is thankful that at least he's working with someone he can count on. No matter what happens when they get inside, he knows they will have done everything they possibly could. It's not all that comforting, but it's something.

They take the long way around the east side of the house, sticking to the trees. There's not much hope that the vampires haven't smelled them yet, but Dean's not going to take any chances. Soon enough, they can see that the house is empty. The windows are broken out with no coverings and the floors are caved in in places. No vampire could live in there. But the barn is boarded up and there are signs of scraping in the dirt near the doors. It's a bigger building anyway which gives more credence to the theory that there are a lot of them.

Dean motions for Cas to go around the back door while he takes the front. Maybe if they take the vampires by surprise in a blitz attack, they could stand a chance. Dean's already thinking of how to free Crowley and Kevin, assuming they're still alive.

It feels like an eternity between the time Dean pushes open the door and when he finds himself standing in the opening of a massive empty room. At least, it looks empty, but who knows what could be hiding in the dark corners, or beyond the door to an inner room that has obviously been added recently. And to his right, Dean sees a cluster of cages that look like they were made for giant chickens. Obviously, that hasn't been their use lately. He sees movement in the one nearest to him, and he recognizes Kevin's scruffy hair. He sees blood, but he can't think about that right now.

Dean is glad the two prisoners have the presence of mind to remain silent as he approaches the cage. They seem as worried as he is that someone might be hiding where they can't see. Up close, Dean notes that Crowley seems perfectly healthy, and Kevin's head wound is probably superficial, but his eyes seem strangely glassed over.

Dean puts his finger to his lips and then reaches for the lock. Picking it will take time, but he might as well do it now while no one is around. Kevin and Crowley are hunched over near the gate, watching breathlessly as Dean pulls out one of the lock picks he always carries.

He never gets to use it though because he feels something grab him by the shoulder and spin him around. Dean doesn't lose any time in drawing his machete and making the swift motion to remove them vampires head. His aim is a little too high and he has to pull back and swing again. In that time, reinforcements have arrived. Three vampires rush toward Dean, leaping over the body of their fallen friend. But before they reach him, a voice calls out and they stop in their tracks.

"That's quite enough," the voice says.

Dean still holds the machete ready as he searches for the source of the command. Near the doorway across the room stands one whom Dean is surprised not to have encountered sooner. The Alpha. And next to him, two more vampires have captured Cas. One of them is holding his angel sword which is covered in blood.

"So," the Alpha begins, " the prodigal son has returned."

* * *

><p><strong>Please let me know what you think of this new development. I always thought there was more to Dean having been a vampire and his encounters with the Alpha. It's probably enough to be it's own story, but I thought it would be fun to address here, to make the case more than the usual vampires.<strong>

**Also, who's seen the new episode? Was that intense or what? Also, Cas talking to Gadreel? Sounds like I'm on the right track with his character after all.**

**As always, thanks for reading and leaving comments. I love to hear what you think.**


	19. Prodigal

**Chapter Nineteen "Prodigal"**

A strange part of Dean wants to laugh. He doesn't know why, and it actually makes him feel more insane than usual, but he gives in to the impulse. He chuckles like he's the one with the upper hand when he knows the shit just hit the fan.

"Shoulda known it was you," Dean says with a shake of his head. "This was too easy."

"Oh?" the Alpha replies with amusement in his voice. "Forgive me for not giving you more of a challenge; I think I've waited long enough for this."

"Sorry to disappoint you. This ain't no family reunion."

"Isn't it, Dean?"

"Think there's some people missing." Dean looks around in mock curiosity, but gets another good look at his surroundings as he does so. The three vampires have blocked him off from the cage, but no one makes a move toward him, and he still holds his machete.

The Alpha gets a hungry gleam in his eyes, as if his endgame is finally coming to pass. "Some people," he says, "you will never see again. Just as I will not see all the children you took from me."

"So, killing the Leviathans? Saving your race? That counts for nothing?"

"It certainly does." The Alpha gives Dean an appreciative look. "That is the reason I am not going to kill all of your friends and make you watch."

"How generous of you. You're just gonna kill me. Come on then."

"No." The Alpha takes a step closer, but still keeps a significant distance from Dean. "I am not going to kill you, Dean. That's just what you want, isn't it? To be free of your burdens? To see your brother again? I will take that from you. I will make you mine again. In time, you will love it."

Dean feels his heart clenching, threatening to strangle him as it seems to rise in his throat. "I'm not one of yours," he says. "I never will be."

The Alpha shakes his head almost sympathetically. "It was mere luck that you escaped last time. Eventually, no one is stronger than the call of blood."

"Funny, I knew someone who was. More than one, actually. People who'd rather die than drink humans." Dean feels a bitter taste rise in his mouth at repeating the words Benny used.

"I do not doubt that you _will _beg for death," the Alpha says, "but it will not come. You will drink. Eventually, instinct takes over. You won't be able to control yourself. You will be the strongest, the most bloodthirsty of my children, for I will turn you myself. There will be no _cure_."

Since no one seems ready to stop him, Dean takes three long strides into the middle of the room. It may be suicidal arrogance, or it may be his only chance. "I'm just gonna tell you right now, you're not gonna win. This little game of yours? I will beat you."

"Big talk, Dean. But all your protestations will not change facts." The Alpha turns his head and gestures at Cas. "I have already won."

Dean refuses to take the bait and shakes his head. "As long as I'm alive, you'll never win."

"Is there an end to your arrogance?"

"I doubt it. I've fought much bigger than you."

"Never alone."

"I'm not alone."

"You will be very soon. Will they love you when you crave their blood? Will they even be able to face you?"

Dean looks at Cas whose lips are moving, though no sound comes out. Dean frowns, but he doesn't have time to think about it.

"Fine," he says. "Let them go then. You have me."

"Not just yet." The Alpha raises one finger. "I have need of your friends. This one." He points at Cas, and the former angel snaps his mouth shut as if to hide whatever he was muttering. "Once his purpose is served, they will all leave together. How far they get will be up to you."

It's a sudden realization that Dean should have seen coming. The Alpha means to force Dean to feed on his friends once he's been turned. Not just his friends. Cas. Somehow, the Alpha knows that will be the worst for Dean. He's been inside his head, and who knows what he saw there.

Two warring thoughts invade Dean's mind. One says to fight, to force them to kill him, thwarting their plans. But the other thought is of all his friends suffering for his actions. Would the vampires kill them all if the Alpha's goal was lost? Or would they turn them, punishing Dean even in death. The second option is too real not to give Dean pause. If they're going to die, they should all die together, and Dean can't guarantee that will happen.

That doesn't have to mean he'll go easy. He's making them come to him, and risk losing a few limbs in the process. The Alpha seems to know this because he doesn't order anyone to restrain Dean or come any closer himself.

"Don't fight it," the Alpha says. "It will be so much easier if you don't."

Dean shakes his head. "You know me? You been in my head? You know that's never gonna happen."

The Alpha tilts his head to the side, looking tired, like he expected as much. "Always determined to do things the hard way, Dean? How many more must die?"

Dean looks around him again. The three vampires behind him are looking anxious. "I'm thinking at least three," he says, looking back at the Alpha. He doesn't need to keep his eyes on the others. He can feel them, not that he'd ever admit that. Something in him is still connected to the hive mind. He suspects that's why he's so good at killing vampires.

"If their deaths would satisfy you." The Alpha waves his hand, dismissively.

Dean should have seen that coming. The Alpha is willing to sacrifice a few more grunts for the promise of turning him. The more he thinks about it, the more Dean can't see a way out of this. He wonders how he could have been so careless, but he thinks maybe he was always this way, though he usually had Sam to back him up.

"No?" the Alpha says. "Take him inside."

Dean hadn't planned on attacking first, but he's not going to give up that easily either. The three vampires approach from behind, and he dodges out of their reach, making a clean swipe at the closest one's head. Blood splatters the other two, and Dean feels it hitting his face as well. He doesn't stop to worry about it. The other two vampires attack together, probably hoping to force Dean to surrender, but they aren't allowed to kill him, and he doesn't have that problem. The first goes for a blow to the head, and Dean ducks out of the way, while the other attempts to tackle him to the ground. Lowering his center of gravity gives Dean more balance as he stabs upward at the oncoming opponent. With the blade still buried in the vampire's ribs, Dean stands to his full height, cutting a huge tear through the vampire's body. It won't kill him, but it will buy some time.

The other vampire, a female, has recovered by this point and takes a leap at Dean's shoulder. The force of her full weight knocks him to the ground, and the blood-soaked machete slips from his grasp. The girl is stronger than she looks, and she pins Dean's arms to the floor, preventing him from reaching the blade. He tries kicking at her, but she doesn't give an inch. A few feet away, her friend is trying to hold his organs in, and the other is dead. Dean had really hoped to do a bit more damage than this, and he continues to struggle.

A flash of light and an earsplitting crack fill the room without warning. From his place on the floor, Dean can't see what's going on, but he can hear a fight starting up. Doors open and close, and it seems as if more vampires are flooding the room. The vampire on top of him is distracted for a split second, and Dean seizes the opportunity to wrench his right arm free and knock her to the side. He turns onto his stomach and crawls toward the machete. The vampire grabs him by the ankles, but he's already reached his goal. He turns back to her and swings at her hands, severing them completely from the wrists. More blood soaks his shoes and the cuffs of his jeans. Pulling up into a kneeling position, Dean finishes off the girl, and then her incapacitated friend.

But he's got bigger problems now. The room is in chaos. A horde of vampires descends on him, and Dean doesn't hesitate to fight back. These seem less inclined to take him alive than the others. Something must have altered their position, but there's no time to figure it out now. As he fights off the bloodthirsty cadre, Dean registers that Cas is now free, and in possession of his angel blade once again. More than that, Dean can't assess, but it is cause for optimism.

It's probably best that Crowley and Kevin are still in the cage right now. Dean manages to place himself with his back to them, keeping any of the vampires from attempting to use their defenseless position against Dean. The bodies begin to pile up as Dean fights back. His hands are slick with blood, and it's getting hard to see where the next threat is coming from. Dean is reacting instinctively now, not thinking as he cuts through their necks. It's difficult to breathe when he's trying to keep blood from getting in his mouth. He can already taste the salty flavor of his own.

The onslaught thins, and Dean doesn't know how long he's been fighting when he notices that there's a third fighter in their midst. A tall man in a black leather jacket. Even though he doesn't have time to think it in so many words, Dean knows that this was the source of the flash of light and the noise. Gadreel.

Almost as soon as Dean realizes this, the fighting is over. The last of the vampires fall, and Dean is standing above the bodies, looking at Gadreel and Cas and wondering what the hell is going on.

* * *

><p><strong>This is probably the most violent thing I've every written, and it actually felt kind of good. I also felt like it was needed in this story. Dean really had to kill something to keep sane, and I had to write him killing something for similar reasons. I know the chapter is a little shorter than usual, but where I ended just felt like a good stopping place. So, let me know what you think and come back next week for a new chapter.<strong>

**Apparently the canon Dean needs to kill things too, but we all knew that was coming. Seriously intense episode this week. I cannot wait for the finale. Except that means no new Supernatural until next season... I am torn.**


	20. Half Truth

**Chapter Twenty "Half Truth"**

An eerie calm settles over the old barn, broken only by the steady dripping of blood somewhere. It could be from his own hands, but Dean isn't really thinking about it anymore. The threat is past, and they have new problems.

Cas looks no worse for the wear, except that his trenchcoat is completely ruined, and he has a faraway look in his eyes as if he doesn't know where he is. Gadreel on the other hand, is utterly unscathed and impassive. And somehow, Crowley and Kevin have managed to get out of the cage on their own. They've got a little blood on them, but other than Kevin's head wound, it doesn't look to be theirs. Crowley is holding his right arm to his side.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asks.

"He thought it would be a good idea to try to break down the door while you were fighting," Kevin says, and it almost seems as if he wants to laugh about it.

"I _did _break down the door," Crowley retorts, attempting to preserve his dignity. "It was rather sturdy."

Without saying a word, Gadreel turns to Crowley and touches his shoulder. Instantly, the pained look evaporates from Crowley's face, and he lets go of his arm. His expression turns to one of begrudging gratitude.

"Who called for reinforcements?" Crowley asks.

"No one," Gadreel answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "I have been following your movements, which you have not made easy." He looks at Dean with that last comment.

"We don't exactly want to be followed," Dean says. "That's what all the angel gibberish is for."

"I have had to be creative. You can hardly be angry with me for saving your lives again. I came to warn you. You should not go back to Kansas."

"But we have to," Kevin says, suddenly frantic. "The tablets are there. All our research."

"I will retrieve them for you," Gadreel assures him.

"We put angel warding all around the bunker. You won't be able to get in."

"As I said, I can be creative."

Crowley smirks. "Some deeper magic from before the dawn of time?"

Everyone looks at Crowley in confusion, except for Kevin, who seems to get the reference. "Narnia?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

"You'd think angels would get that one," Crowley says with a shrug.

"You are correct though," Gadreel says. "As a Watcher, I know ways around the normal spells."

"Isn't that how you let Lucifer into the Garden?" Cas asks with an accusing tone. It's the first thing he's said since the fight ended.

"We all make mistakes," Gadreel replies, with a warning look.

"He's probably right," Cas concedes, though he is still glaring at Gadreel. "About not going back. The other angels already know we live in the area. And if he can find us, it's only a matter of time until they do."

"And whatever happened to not trusting him?" Dean asks. "Does no one else remember he was with the angels who tried to kill us?"

Gadreel looks confused. "Do you always speak of others as if they are not present?"

Dean holds up his hand to silence the angel. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna go back to the bunker and get what we need, and then we'll find someplace else to hole up, all right?"

Crowley smiles but says nothing.

"What?" Dean asks, becoming more irritable every moment.

"Oh, nothing. Just that your skills at compromise are improving. It's quite refreshing, actually."

"You should not go back," Gadreel argues. "I cannot protect you if Bartholomew brings his army."

Dean turns to Gadreel with a blazing look in his eyes. "You didn't say anything about an army!"

"You have not listened to me long enough to get to that point. It is not my fault."

"You shoulda led with that! Damn angels." Dean begins to pace the floor, kicking aside limbs and heads of vampires as he does so. "Okay, the plan's still the same, only we go right now, as fast as we can."

"Shouldn't we clean up?" Cas asks.

"I will take care of this," Gadreel offers, gesturing at that mess in the barn.

"I think I saw a faucet in the back." Cas holds up his blood covered hands.

"We'll get the car," Crowley says, nudging Kevin to follow him.

Dean doesn't argue. There's too much going on right now to be picky about little things. So he follows Cas out the back way to a rusty pipe with a stiff handle jutting out of the exterior wall of the barn. Surprisingly, there is still water in the building, and they try to be quick about cleaning up. Most of their clothes are ruined, and Cas tosses his coat aside.

"We can find you a new one," Dean says, not really sure why it matters so much.

"It's okay," Cas replies, but he doesn't sound very okay at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with losing his favorite article of clothing. As he cleans the blade of his angel sword, Dean wonders.

"You held your own back there." Dean means it to be encouraging, but it doesn't seem to be taken that way at all.

"Yes." There's an unmistakable bitterness in Cas' voice. "It seems killing things comes naturally to me."

"They were going to kill us," Dean counters, shaking icy cold water off his hands. "You only did what you had to. No one's gonna blame you for that, least of all me."

"I know. It just... didn't go at all like I thought it would."

Dean almost laughs, but he manages to refrain. "How'd you think hunting vampires would go?"

"I didn't think there would be so many. I didn't think they would want to change you."

Dean really hadn't expected that last part either. "Guess like anybody, they got a reason for what they do. Maybe they seem like mindless killers most of the time, and I'm not saying they didn't deserve what they got, but they were people once."

"There should be a way to save them. Like you were saved."

"It doesn't help that they don't want it. They like what they are for the most part."

"Did Benny?"

"What?"

"I never saw him after you left Purgatory. Did he enjoy being a vampire? Killing people?"

"No." Dean is surprised at how quickly the memories come back to him. "He hated it. He went back partly to get away from the thirst."

"I never thanked him."

"Cas, if you think about all the things you should have done, you'll never stop. And I get it, I really do, but we've got work to do, and we don't have time to second guess everything."

Cas nods and shuts off the water. "Their leader got away."

Dean realizes that he hadn't checked for the Alpha's body. "We'll get him next time," he says with a certainty he does not feel.

Cas doesn't argue, and the make their way around the barn to where Crowley and Kevin have returned with the car as well as picked up their things from the motel. Dean gets a clean shirt from his bag, and stuffs the blood stained things behind the baggage, including Cas' coat. They may need it later.

As they head off down the highway, Dean can't help thinking about how complicated things are becoming. Cas seems to be on edge, and it's not clear, but Dean is almost certain there's something important he's not saying. The angels have an army. Sure, Dean has dealt with that before, but he had Sam and Bobby and Cas was still an angel. Now, he doesn't know what he has.

On top of that, Kevin and Crowley seem to be getting along, and that's just scary. The two of them are sitting in the backseat discussing their plans once they get back to the angel tablet. Apparently the knowledge that they're up against an army has given the two of them all sorts of ideas for how to fight off angels. When they had been looking for a way to break Metatron's spell, the whole thing seemed impossible, but they actually sound optimistic now.

Dean is pretty sure something must have happened when they were locked up in the vampires' lair to make Kevin actually pleasant toward Crowley. He's not sure he wants to know, and now isn't the time to talk about it.

Cas is quiet again, and Dean doesn't really blame him. After what they just went through, a little silence is called for. But Dean thinks that's probably not what's bothering his friend. They drive through the night like this, and Cas eventually falls asleep, though he keeps twitching like he's not completely out. He did say something about not sleeping well, and Dean wonders how long it's been going on.

It's early morning when they arrive back at the bunker. Even then, Dean feels nervous that something might be waiting for them. Having the whole night to think about Gadreel's warning has made it sink in more than it had when he first heard it. It doesn't help that Dean is exhausted from driving all night after fighting off a nest of vampires. His whole body is sore, and he just wants to lay down for a while and not think about anything. But there's no time for that.

Everyone collects the things they need in as quickly as they can and returns to the garage. Dean has to reorganize the trunk a little to fit everything in, but he manages it in the end.

"Should we take another car?" Crowley asks once they're ready to go.

"I don't think splitting up is such a good idea," Cas says. "And someone else should drive for a while."

Dean had been hoping no one would notice how tired he was.

"Where are we going?" Kevin asks.

And that's one thing that's been bothering Dean. Where can they go? What security can they have anymore?

"Bartholomew probably doesn't know about Rufus' cabin," Dean says. "We haven't used it in well over a year."

Crowley seems to be calculating in his head. "A good 20-hour drive to Whitefish," he says. "How to do humans do this all the time?"

"It's relaxing. You got any better ideas?"

Crowley shrugs and holds out his hand for the keys, which Dean begrudgingly hands over.

"Switch off every few hours," Dean says. "That way everybody gets some sleep. Don't use the same credit card twice for gas."

"Get in, and go to sleep," Crowley says, though not too harshly. "I think we can manage to stay alive without you for a few hours."

Dean gets in the backseat of the car and watches as they pull out of the garage and into the bright sunrise. His last thoughts are flickers of memories, driving for days on end with Sam. Hiding in that old cabin after Bobby's house was destroyed. Would it still be safe? Would they ever be able to come home?

* * *

><p><strong>Hey all, I've got a question for you guys, and I'd really appreciate your thoughts. If you don't want to leave them in your review, feel free to PM me. So, I've been wanting to post some more Supernatural stories on fanfiction, but I don't want to spread myself too thin to where I don't update regularly and leave things unfinished. I used to do that all the time, and I'm working really hard not to anymore. I have a couple of thoughts of how I could work around that. I could post a second story that I update less frequently than once a week, or I could have a required quota of chapters on all my stories before I can post the next chapter. So, say, I get four chapters of this one and another one done ahead, and then write at least one chapter a week for one or the other so that if I ever have a terrible week or get sick or anything, I'll have plenty of backup. I like the second idea because it would allow me to post multiple stories with equal regularity. Let me know what you think. Would you like to see more stories? Is once a week frequent enough or too frequent for new chapters? Right now I have at least two other stories that I would like to post soonish, so I'd love to know what you think.<strong>

**And that finale, I can't even...  
><strong>


	21. Respite

**Chapter Twenty-One "Respite"**

It's gone midnight when the Impala pulls up in front of a familiar cabin in the woods. Castiel can remember staying here when the Leviathans were chasing them. He remembers he was insane then, and Meg was with them. He tries not to think about her, but it's difficult when he knows her killer is standing right next to him. He doesn't want revenge. Not really. He's not sure what he wants, and he's certain that being human was never meant to be so confusing.

There aren't enough beds for everyone in the cabin, but there is a couch, and someone suggests sleeping in shifts so they can keep watch for enemies. It's just as well. Castiel couldn't sleep now anyway. Kevin passes out on the couch while Dean and Crowley claim the bunk bed in the other room, and Castiel is left to sit in silence.

The drive had been impossibly long. Dean had only slept fitfully for a few hours before taking the wheel again. They had made him switch drivers every now and then, but he hadn't slept any more. Castiel is perfectly aware of the reasoning behind this behavior. Dean is worried, naturally. He wants to make sure his family is safe. If they are his family. They're as close as any of them will get. But there's more to it than that. It may be guilt, but Castiel is certain that Dean suspects something about Gadreel's sudden appearance. It's not as if Dean has given any indication of this, only that Castiel knows himself to be a terrible liar. And lying by omission is the same as lying straight out.

Castiel gets up from the rickety table and walks over to the front window. The darkness in the forest is made more absolute by the fact that all the lights in the cabin have been shut off. They don't want to draw attention to themselves. After a few moments of staring, Castiel goes to his bag and gets his red sweatshirt. It's not as warm as his coat, but it's all he has now, and he has a feeling he'll need it.

A biting wind blows through the trees, and Castiel gets the strange sensation that it's about to snow as he walks down the steps out of the cabin. His sweatshirt doesn't do much to keep back the cold. He'll have to see about getting some warmer clothes soon.

As it is, Castiel stumbles through the trees, cold and without a flashlight; which seems, in retrospect, like a rather silly idea. Still, he carries on for about ten minutes before he finds a small clearing where the moonlight has broken through the clouds making it seem colder than ever, but a little lighter.

When Gadreel appears before him, Castiel notices a faint glow, making it easier to see the angel in the gloomy woods.

"This is very remote," Gadreel says, with a hint of approval in his voice. "I take it you ran into no trouble on the way?"

"No," Castiel replies. "It was a strangely quiet trip. We have the tablet and everything we need."

"Good. Bartholomew and his forces have noticed your absence, but it should be some time before they track you here. Should that happen, I will be quick to warn you."

"Why did you say you were following us in Wisconsin?"

Gadreel looks mildly surprised. "Did you want me to say that you called me? I was of the impression you did not have the approval to speak with me."

Something very human in Castiel bristles at the thought that he would need anyone's approval to do anything. But Gadreel is right. Dean would not be happy if he knew.

Gadreel smiles faintly at Castiel's silence. "I think it would be best if our meetings remained between us for now. It is not such a far fetched concept that I would be able to follow you anyway."

"You didn't follow us here; I called you."

"I was occupied. I am not omnipresent, you know?"

"Yes, of course, but when do you plan to explain how you've been occupied? You said Bartholomew had an army?"

"Yes, he is building up a faction of angels. Their hope is to return to Heaven, but because they see you as their chance, they are going about things all wrong. Meanwhile, Metatron laughs."

"You've seen Metatron?"

"Yes. He came to me. Made me quite the generous offer, but I have my suspicions about his motives."

"Good." Castiel can't help feeling a surge of bitterness at the idea of Metatron still pulling strings. "He's proven he can't be trusted."

"It does seem like a good idea to learn what he is planning, though."

"You're going to spy on him?"

"He came to me. He made it easy."

"But what if he finds out you aren't on his side?"

"If I can learn how to open the gates of Heaven again, I do not care what he does to me. There is very little I cannot withstand."

"You could get yourself killed."

"Death is not the worst thing that can happen, Castiel. Remember that."

Castiel is alone once again in the cold dark. He finds a dry log and sits down at the edge of the clearing to wait for the sunrise. There is too much to think about for him to go back just yet.

**~oOo~**

It's something like four in the morning when Kevin wakes to a series of clanking noises coming from the kitchen. His head is at that end of the couch, so he has to turn onto his stomach to look over the ratty old pillow to see Crowley behaving quite viciously toward the coffee maker.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kevin asks in a heavily sleep coated voice.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Crowley replies, looking briefly toward the living room before returning his attention to the ancient coffee maker.

"Little bit," Kevin says. "What are you doing up so early anyway?"

"What is sleep when there's strategy to plan?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe something like sanity?"

"Says the prophet who stays awake for days on end reading Metatron's indecipherable sludge."

"I never said _I_ wasn't crazy." Kevin gets up, feeling the last traces of sleep forsaking him.

Crowley seems to have found the right button because the telltale dripping of hot coffee sounds from the kitchen, and the smell immediately permeates the room. He then begins searching the cupboards for clean mugs.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"Sure," Kevin replies, sitting down at the table where he left all their notes the night before. He's glad he doesn't have to read the tablet anymore for a while. They have enough ammo on the angels just from what they've translated so far. He picks up one of Crowley's notebooks which is color-coded and full of explanatory notes. In comparison, Cas' notes are bare bones. Just the facts as plain as he could make them. His handwriting is weird too. Kind of squiggly like he doesn't quite know what the words should look like. Kevin has to hand it to Crowley; his work will be easier to deal with.

After a few minutes, Crowley sets a plain ceramic mug on the table in front of Kevin. "We're going to have to stock up on food today," he says conversationally. "I think this coffee is growing hair."

Kevin takes a sip, and it is disgusting. "How long has this been in here?"

"Let's see, the boys were using this cabin back when the Leviathans walked the Earth. I don't know when they found the bunker exactly, but it's probably been a year or more."

Kevin pushes the mug away. He's not going to risk any more of that substance masquerading as coffee. "Hey, you know how you said if we got out of the vampire nest alive, you'd talk about... you know?" Kevin doesn't know why he's bringing this up now. He's not even sure he wants to get into it, but it seems as good a time as any.

"Yes," Crowley replies, staring back at Kevin from across the table.

Right about now, Kevin feels more like sinking into the floorboards than saying what's been on his mind. "I was just wondering—I mean, I know you're... not like you used to be."

"Is there a question in there?"

"How does that work, exactly? Did you just become human and suddenly that makes you a good person?"

"Do you think I'm a good person?" Crowley can be so damned Socratic sometimes.

Kevin sighs. "I don't know."

"Then let me tell you." Crowley rests his hands on the table, clasped together. "I'm not. I don't think humanity is split up into good people and bad people. I think it's messier than that. Being a demon is easy. There are rules. Humans don't have rules. Not the same way. There's free will, and there's destiny, and there's something in between, and who knows which way is up?"

"That's not an answer."

"That's what I am now. Complicated."

"So, why are you here? Why do you care what happens to us?"

"Someone died for me. That leaves a mark that can't be erased. I have a debt that can never be paid."

"You think if you help Dean you're paying back what Sam did for you?"

"For me, to me. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's a jarring thing, Kevin, to receive a second chance you never asked for."

"Isn't that kind of what redemption is?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I think I can handle that."

Crowley smiles in a way that is not altogether unpleasant, and Kevin doesn't think to be concerned about it.

**~oOo~**

Dean isn't sure whether the cool yellow light streaming through the windows or the loud banging of the front door is what wakes him. Either way, he's on his feet in a matter of seconds, ready to attack whatever is invading the cabin.

However, it turns out that Crowley and Kevin have just come inside carrying brown paper bags full of food and other supplies, so Dean forgets his impulse to kill something and moves out into the main room. The clock on the wall reads 6:12.

"How early did you get up?" he asks as the others begin putting away groceries.

"Around four, I should think," Crowley replies absently. "We had a nice chat, organized some notes, and found the larder completely lacking in anything edible. Really, when's the last time you stocked the shelves?"

"Almost a year. Once we found the bunker, we didn't need it anymore. It didn't do much good to hide in a place most people already knew about anyway."

"That's why the coffee tasted like battery acid."

"Yeah, don't drink that."

"Thank you, you've been so helpful."

"Hey, where's Cas?"

Crowley looks around the room, seeming to just realize their group is one member short. "I suppose he went for another of his solitary walks. Was he here earlier?"

Kevin shakes his head. "I thought maybe he went to sleep when you got up."

But all the beds are empty, and it doesn't take long to search the cabin and find that Cas is indeed gone.

"I'm gonna look for him," Dean says as he begins pulling on his shoes.

"If he's been out there in the dark, he's gonna be freezing," Kevin says.

"You can figure out that cursed coffee maker," Crowley says.

Dean crosses the room, pushes a couple of buttons on the machine, and it starts up again. "The labels wore off a long time ago," he says. "You just gotta know what they used to say."

He leaves the cabin without waiting for further questions or bickering from Crowley and Kevin. More because the bickering is actually friendly, and Dean doesn't think he can listen to that right now when his stomach is twisting in knots at the idea that Cas might be lost or hurt or worse.

There's an easy trail to follow away from the cabin. Dean even finds a bit of red thread on a branch from Cas' sweatshirt. But he still can't understand why Cas would go out at night and traipse through the woods alone. That's dangerous on the face of it, but with Bartholomew's people out there looking for them, it's even worse.

It doesn't take long for Dean to see a flash of red in the distance. He's sure Cas can hear him coming, but he doesn't turn around. It's a miracle the former angel manage to come all this way in the dark without breaking his neck.

The little clearing where Cas is sitting is covered in dew which reflects the first rays of sunlight. Birds have begun to sing all around them, and insects chirp with life. Dean is no longer surprised to find Cas sitting in a place like this. So, instead of showing his fear or getting angry, Dean sits down beside Cas and doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for all the feedback on how to post new stories. I have a poll on my profile right now if you'd like to vote for which story you want to see first. And if you've got any comments on them, feel free to PM me and let me know.<strong>

**And of course, let me know what you think of this chapter, I've got another one finished already and the beginnings of the next one after that, so I'm slowly getting ahead. Hopefully by next week, I'll have more stocked up. This weekend was terrible for writing with a bunch of out of town family staying at my house. But now I'm free, and the words will flow!**


	22. Paradoxical

**Chapter Twenty-Two "Paradoxical"**

The sun feels cold, which is probably some kind of paradox that Castiel does not have the patience to unravel at the moment. The nighttime chill has seeped into his bones, and he sits very still because he knows that if he moves he will being to shiver violently. He can't explain why he remained in the meadow so long, and he is glad that Dean does not ask. He had feared the questions that would surely undo him, but they have not come. The silence stretches out, and Castiel thinks that he could sit here forever listening to the birds and grasshoppers. He remembers his insanity and how he spent most of it doing things like this. But Dean hadn't been there. Dean hadn't understood. Does he now? Could he possibly stand to hear all that is going through Castiel's mind.

No. No, he couldn't. Not all of it anyway. There are some things Castiel knows he should have told Dean months ago, but more recent developments he knows he can't. Things about Gadreel and the angels. Dean can't understand that. But the dreams? The fact that he hasn't slept a full night in all his time as a human? Dean could understand that.

"I don't want to go back," Castiel says so suddenly that it surprises even him.

Beside him, Dean takes a measured breath and waits a moment before answering. "Back where?" he says with that false casual tone he so often affects.

"Anywhere. I wish I could stay here."

"Winter's coming; you'd freeze your ass off. You know this is Montana, right?"

"I don't mean literally." Castiel finally looks at Dean. "I wish this was our life. Not all those other things."

"Other things. You mean angels and death and blood?"

"Yes."

"So you could sit and watch the sunrise?"

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Nope. Nothing wrong with it at all." Dean gazes off at the trees as if he's done speaking. "Just as long as you know it's never gonna happen."

"If this is what you call encouragement, I'd have been better off keeping my thoughts to myself."

Dean turns back to Castiel, the casual air finally gone. "No—okay, I didn't mean it like that. Cas, it's okay to want something better than this. Hell, Sam never let go of that light at the end of the tunnel. Personally, I think it's a train headed our way, but you don't have to believe that. Just don't let it mess with you right now. Don't get so stuck on how you want things to be that you can't face the way they really are."

"It's strange to hear you say that. Aren't you always trying to change things?"

"Changing things and avoiding them are two very different things."

"I suppose therein lies my problem. There's just so much..."

"But you're not alone."

"I am." Castiel looks away at anything but Dean's eyes. "At night. When I close my eyes, I see things I—"

"Dreams?"

"Yes. Ever since... ever since I became human. I thought it would fade after a I would learn how to handle it, but I... still can't sleep."

"What are the dreams about?"

"I don't want to—"

"It's okay, Cas. Tell me."

It's as if there is no more air left in the world, and Castiel knows he must confess his darkest nightmares, but he hardly knows how to form the words. Still, Dean's encouragement makes even that possible. "Things I've done. Killing angels. Betraying you. Sam dying."

"But you had nothing to do with that."

"If I had been there—maybe I could have stopped it. I was too busy listening to Metatron, and that's what got us in the mess we're in now. Naomi told us Sam would die if he finished the trials, but I didn't want to believe her. Maybe because of what she did to me or because I thought I was going to save everyone... I don't know."

"You couldn't have stopped Sam. Whatever else you did, nothing was going to change his mind. If I couldn't..."

Castiel finally meets Dean's gaze again. "But maybe I could have brought him back."

"Even with all your angel juice, I doubt it. I don't think people come back from something like that. Whatever you're feeling guilty about, don't let Sam be one of those things. He made his choice. Not your fault."

"Maybe it's easier to think it was because everything else is so intangible. I used to understand intangible."

"Can't help you there. All this stuff, it doesn't just go away. I used to tell Sam to just bury it. Hide it away because if you let it, it will eat you alive. Guess that's still true. But you can tell me. Can't say I'll have the answers, but you can always tell me."

All at once, Dean's words are a comfort and a twisting knife in Castiel's gut. Because there are some things he can't tell Dean. If he did, he would lose whatever faith his friend still has in him. He doesn't know how he expects this to end, but he can't delude himself into thinking it will go well. He doesn't know what choice he has.

"Thank you," Castiel finally says. "I'm very cold now."

Dean smiles in that strangely parental way he has and gives Castiel his jacket. They walk back through the trees to the cabin, once again in silence because they don't need to say anything else.

**~oOo~**

Crowley is no longer opposed to doing things for other people just for the sake of doing them. Nor does this fact annoy him like it once did. Even when it's Castiel, looking all cold and pathetic, and Crowley is bringing him coffee and breakfast not the slightest bit reluctantly. It's not as if they're friends. They could never be that. But they do have some rapport. When they were both willing to die for Dean, it seemed as if their differences were insignificant. And maybe they are.

Whatever their situation, it is a workable one. Maybe Kevin is his friend, and Dean is his benefactor, and Castiel is his ally. It's not something Crowley really meant to happen. He hadn't exactly been planning on living this long at all, considering the lifespan of those who associate with Winchesters. But here he is. Here they all are. It's not so bad.

Soon enough, like the mother he is, Dean sends Castiel off to bed. The surprising thing is the terrified look that crosses Castiel's face so briefly that Crowley isn't really sure he saw it. Perhaps it has something to do with why the man wanders the woods at night instead of falling asleep like any poorly paid sentry would. At the moment, it's not significant enough for Crowley to question, but he files away the information like he does with every detail of his comrades' lives. It's a habit he can't seem to help.

Things begin to look up when Kevin gets out their notes again while Dean cleans up after breakfast. Working is one thing that makes sense with this group. And even more importantly, they've reached a stage where Dean can actually help. It's all about strategy now, about taking all the strengths and weaknesses of the angels into account and finding a way to beat them. And there's really no one better at that than Dean.

Kevin has already started compiling an index of all their information. Crowley has a feeling this could turn into one of those old books in the Men of Letters' bunker that hunters refer to in years to come. It's difficult not to get slowed down by the sheer volume of details, especially when they happen to be fascinating yet useless details.

_Know your enemy_, Crowley thinks.

Dean keeps the coffee coming and paces the floor, pitching out ideas that Kevin checks against his lists and Crowley decides whether they have the necessary equipment. It's almost fun.

"So of all these spells, you haven't found a way to ward off angels completely?" Dean asks.

"There hasn't been anything of that scale on the tablet," Kevin replies. "Smaller spells, yes, but to completely repel angels would probably cause spatial issues. I mean, if you were completely angel proof and you walked into a building full of them, what would happen? It's a paradox."

"You're the genius," Dean concedes.

"Though," Crowley interrupts, "that doesn't mean there isn't a way stay invisible to them. The warding we're using is enough to keep them from finding us with their super senses, but once they do find us, they aren't prevented from seeing or killing us. But it seems there would be a way to extrapolate the Enochian text in order to make us completely unseen."

"So we could be in the same room, and they wouldn't know we were there?" Dean says.

"I suspect they would see us, since they are inhabiting human vessels who presumably have eyes, but there would be a sort of perception filter. They _would _see us, but their brains, if they have them, wouldn't register that anyone was there. We would become insignificant."

"I think you've been watching too much _Doctor Who_," Kevin says, shaking his head. "But I like that idea. And Cas would be able to help with the Enochian runes."

"Number one, you cannot watch too much _Doctor Who_," Crowley argues. "And number two, of course it's a good idea. It was mine."

"Tone down the ego for a second," Dean says. "If we can do this, we could find out exactly what's going on with the angels and how to stop them. Right?"

"That's the theory," Kevin says. "_If_ it works."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Crowley mutters.

**~oOo~**

By the time Cas wakes up, Kevin and Crowley have already drafted several potential versions of the invisibility spell, as Dean calls it, and it's nearing lunchtime. Kevin has pinned several of their best efforts to the walls around the dining area, and Dean watches as Cas looks at them with a mix of confusion and awe.

"I'm not sure if you're trying to destroy the universe or brainwash angels into... dancing in circles?" Cas frowns at one translation. "I don't think that's what you meant."

"That's supposed to be 'look past'," Crowley says.

Cas takes the pen Crowley is holding and crosses out the offending phrase, replacing it with the correct one. "I see. You're trying to make the angels overlook something. Much like the warding spells, but bigger."

"We figured you could correct our mistakes," Kevin says. "Crowley thought he was fluent in Enochian."

"I didn't say 'fluent'," Crowley replies. "I said 'proficient'."

"Whatever. Is it going to work?"

"It's difficult to say," Cas says as he examines the pages more carefully. "You've got the right idea, but there's no way to know if it works until it's tested, and you'd want to get the wording just right to avoid... unintended consequences."

"Like destroying the universe?" Dean asks with a smirk.

"Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but you'll want to burn this one." Cas pulls a page off the wall and hands it back to Crowley. "These don't look too bad, though." He gestures at another section of papers. "I never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad I'm not an angel."

"High praise indeed," Crowley says, crumpling up the paper in his hands.

"Did you do all this while I was sleeping?" Cas asks, turning to face the others.

"It was kind of Dean's idea," Kevin says.

"I thought it was my idea?" Crowley argues.

Kevin waves his hand dismissively. "You're both pretty. The point is, this might actually be possible."

"What exactly?" Cas asks.

"Making something invisible to all angels. Not only impossible to trace, but really, really invisible."

"We're going to need more paper," Crowley says, "for revisions."

"A lot more," Kevin agrees. "Is it safe to go out again?" He looks to Dean for an answer.

"Yeah, just don't draw too much attention to yourselves," Dean replies.

"Be sure to have lunch ready when we get back," Crowley says. "You know how much brain food the genius needs."

"You wanna do this by yourself?" Kevin asks in mock challenge. "'Cause that's fine by me."

"Get in the car, smart ass."

As Crowley and Kevin head out the door, Cas watches them with almost the same confused look he gave the invisibility spell. "They're not really fighting," he says.

"No," Dean agrees, going to the refrigerator to find something to fix for lunch.

"They're teasing," Cas continues with that analytical tone in his voice. "You used to do that with Sam."

"I did?" Dean is trying to act like he doesn't really notice, but he knows what Cas is getting at.

"Yes. And you did it to me sometimes. Most of the time I didn't understand it."

"They're just joking around." Dean really hopes Cas will let it go because he doesn't want to talk about how Crowley and Kevin have suddenly become BFFs.

"They're friends now." No such luck.

"Guess so." It's a losing battle, but Dean will stay aloof as long as he can.

"I did not foresee that," Cas concludes.

"You wouldn't be the only one."

"When did this begin?"

"I don't know. Maybe back when they were taken by the vampires. Maybe when they were working together on the tablet. Does it matter?"

"Human behavior astounds me."

"We're a complicated bunch."

"As I have seen. So, what are you trying to make invisible?"

Dean really shouldn't be surprised by Cas' quick subject change. He's probably thinking about a million things at once. Still it takes a moment for him to reply.

"Us," Dean says.

"Oh." It's not a normal _oh_. It's a that-complicates-things sort of _oh_.

"What?" Dean asks. "Will it not work?"

"There will have to be severe modifications. To make something mobile completely undetectable... well, it might be impossible. At least, it won't be what you'd call true invisibility."

"Crowley called it a perception filter."

"Yes, that would be an apt description."

"Kevin said he got it from _Doctor Who_."

"I don't know what that is."

"It's a TV show. Sam liked it." That's why Dean hasn't watched it, but he's not about to say that.

"And this unknown doctor used a perception filter?"

"I guess so. I've never actually seen it."

"I thought you knew everything about television?"

"Cas, I don't know everything about anything. I just know a little about a lot of things."

"I suspect the latter is more valuable anyway."

"It comes in handy."

"I don't suppose you know much about the effects of grammatical construction on the outcome of a spell?"

"I'm having trouble even understanding what you just said."

"Then perhaps you had better make lunch, and I will make notes."

Cas begins pulling drafts of the spell off the wall and stacking them on the table. Dean almost feels as if he's been dismissed, but he doesn't let it bother him. He's no good when it comes to the technicalities of Enochian. Lunch on the other hand is safely within his skill set. And for once, it doesn't really bother him that everyone else is doing something useful while he picks up the slack. Because in a way, Cas is on the outside too. He's doing the same work, and he even knows more than the others, but whatever's happened between Crowley and Kevin is just between them. Crowley may tolerate Cas now, but they certainly aren't friends. Maybe they won't ever be.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm a little late posting this chapter because I was at a friend's house making s'mores and stargazing until 1 a.m.. Totally worth it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one. I'm still looking for feedback on which story I should post next, so check out the poll on my profile and let me know which summary looks the most interesting to you if you haven't already.<strong>


	23. Spelling and Grammar

**Chapter Twenty-Three "Spelling and Grammar"**

Kevin can remember the last time he was in an office supply store with vivid clarity. Winter break before his final semester of high school. He remembers the mix of elation and dread. His mind was full of trigonometry and cello practice and SAT scores. By comparison, his mind has been downright lazy with brief spurts of fevered activity.

As such, Kevin finds himself a bit more excited about the prospect of college-ruled notebooks than the average person would be. Crowley regards him with something like indulgence as Kevin fills a shopping basket with books and pens and those cool mechanical pencils with retractable erasers.

"Hey," Kevin says as he examines the selection of sticky notes. "Have you noticed anything weird about Cas lately?"

"You're asking me about _other _weird people?" Crowley replies.

"I'm serious." Kevin tears his attention away from the colorful tabs. "I mean, I know he's always been a little different, but weird for him. The wandering at night and stuff."

"There's been a lot of that?"

"He got up in the middle of the night in Wisconsin. And when we were working on the tablet, he barely slept more than I did, and when he fell asleep sitting up, he'd always be muttering about something. When he woke up, he'd have this wide-eyed look, like he was afraid of something."

Crowley looks incredulous. "You expect me to care about little Cas having bad dreams?"

"I think there could be something seriously wrong. You saw how he looked when Dean told him to sleep. And I thought they talked about everything, but maybe not this."

"But he was fine, wasn't he? No muttering. No waking up in a cold sweat. It was probably just the stress."

"You don't really think that. I know you're too observant to believe it doesn't mean something. You're just afraid to look into it because it means you might have to care about him, and you're not ready for that yet."

Crowley is silent for a moment, then merely shrugs. "You're the genius."

He begins to walk away, and Kevin can't help himself. Now that he's built a relationship with Crowley, he can get away with this sort of thing.

"Coward," he says.

Kevin can see the tension in Crowley's shoulders as he keeps walking down the aisle. He wants to turn around. He wants to contradict Kevin. But he can't. Not without revealing things he doesn't want to get into.

Kevin can be observant too.

**~oOo~**

It's only when Dean starts to clear the table for lunch that Castiel realizes time has passed. His eyes are burning from staring at the pages of Enochian for so long. His head feels as if it is too full to hold any more.

Dean doesn't say anything, or get in Castiel's way, leaving behind the drafts he's still working on. But as he returns to the kitchen, Castiel watches him. In the indeterminate space of time since Castiel began working, Dean has created a meal that would probably serve ten more easily than four. And Castiel realizes that Dean has always done this.

"You make an awful lot of food," Castiel says.

Dean seems amused by that comment. "You don't eat enough, Cas."

"It's always difficult to tell if my discomfort comes from hunger or the fact that being human is just plain uncomfortable."

Dean turns around and looks at Castiel with a surprisingly fierce gaze. "You're getting thin. Thinner, anyway. Combine that with the lack of sleep and you're well on your way to another hospital visit."

"So I should eat more."

"It's a start."

Castiel is silent for a moment, watching Dean set out the food, being a bit more forceful with the battered dishes than he needs to be. "Are you angry at me for something?" Castiel asks.

"What?" Dean looks surprised (and a little offended) by the mere suggestion.

"You just seem angry. Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you—" Dean backpedals. "It's nothing. You should pick up that stuff so it doesn't get food on it."

Castiel begins collecting the few pages still left on the table. "I thought we were supposed to tell each other things." He's not sure if that's what he should say now, but Dean's mood change must be significant. Castiel is not experienced enough in human behavior to know why.

Dean stares at Castiel for a second, as if unsure he heard the words correctly. "You just... just need to take care of yourself, that's all."

Castiel frowns, feeling like he's about to have a severe headache. "That makes you angry?"

"I'm not angry!"

"Perhaps I used the wrong word. Upset? Distressed? Frustrated?"

"Okay, now I'm angry."

"I'm sorry that I've been negligent. I'll be more careful. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"That's not—" Dean throws up his hands. "Don't—" Then he seems to give up speaking altogether, and sits down at the table with a huff.

"Is it always this difficult for you to say what you mean?" As soon as the words leave Castiel's mouth, he knows they're true. Dean may talk to him more than anyone else. They may be close. But there's still so much beneath the surface that Dean never says. And Castiel needs him to.

"I just..." Dean trails off, and Castiel thinks he's halted completely until he speaks again. "I want you to be okay, you know?"

Thinking about it, Castiel does know. He knows that Dean wants to take care of everyone, that he has this inexplicable need to protect people. To make sure they eat enough. But there's something else. Something in the way Dean reacted to that maybe he's not even aware of.

"I know," Castiel finally says. "And I will be fine." That may be a lie, but it's not worth getting into at the moment. "You could have just said that, though."

"I figured telling you to eat more was enough."

"It was after that you seemed... out of sorts."

"You can just say angry. You were right; I was. But not about you. About me."

"I don't follow your logic."

"The things I said... I don't know, it just seemed like something I would have said before. To Sam. The fact that I was doing that to you..."

Castiel nods, finally understanding Dean's attitude. "I'm not Sam."

"It's not that I even think of it like that. I just do these things without thinking."

"Because I probably needed it. You have an eye for that sort of thing. It's not a bad thing."

"I know. It just... reminds me."

Castiel thinks on that for a moment, staring at the worn tabletop beneath his hands. He never thought that he would remind Dean in any way of Sam. They were just so different. But maybe they weren't. Maybe they both needed a lot of looking after.

Finally, Castiel looks up at Dean again. "Is _that_ a bad thing?"

**~oOo~**

Dean has experienced weirder mornings, but none immediately come to mind. Once Kevin and Crowley return with what seems like a mountain of office supplies, things seem to calm down. They all have lunch, and most of the food gets eaten. He had a feeling it would.

After that, the three geniuses settle into work again. Cas keeps talking about things that Dean has never heard of, and he's pretty sure that no normal grammar teacher would have either. Things like morphological typology and phonemes. And Crowley keeps talking about semantics in an annoyed sort of voice. Meanwhile, Kevin is asking about lexicon and neologisms.

And Dean's getting a headache.

After a while, he has to go outside and chop firewood, which they need anyway, but the activity also makes him feel a little less like a highly trained monkey than he does inside. By the time he's finished a good pile, it's beginning to snow, and the sun is rapidly disappearing. It's going to be a cold night, not that the last one wasn't. At least there's still a little wood inside, because this stuff is going to take a while to dry out.

When Dean finishes putting the wood away, the linguistic debate is still going on, so he tries to tune it out while he starts a fire. Then he returns to the kitchen to make some more coffee and look for a snack. Not for himself. The worker bees need plenty of sustenance.

It seems that Crowley and Kevin didn't bother to pick up any junk food, but they did get all the necessary ingredients for something better. Baking isn't exactly one of Dean's strengths. It's too precise. But he thinks he can manage some chocolate chip cookies. If the oven works, which is a reasonable concern. And if Rufus kept measuring cups. And cookie sheets. All at once this is seeming much more complicated than it should be.

But, as if by wishing, Dean finds everything he needs. The kitchen may be covered in flour, and Dean may or may not have eaten several spoonfuls of batter; but the cookies are in the oven, and they don't seem to be bursting into flames, so he counts it a success.

"Are you going for housewife of the year?" Crowley asks from across the room. "Because I don't think needing a shower after engaging in confectionery is a good sign."

Dean looks down and sees that the front of his shirt is also covered in flour. He can only hope he doesn't have anything on his face as he dusts it off. He needs to sweep the floors anyway.

"They make this thing called an apron," Crowley continues.

"That's one thing we don't have," Dean replies. "And aren't you supposed to be working."

"Teacher is checking my spelling." Crowley nods toward Cas who is meticulously analyzing a page of Crowley's smooth handwriting.

"Is that supposed to be a pun?" Cas asks without taking his eyes off the page.

"Etymologically speaking, it's the same word. Spell, spell. Same thing."

"People used to think grammar was magical," Kevin says, suddenly interested in the conversation. "The word 'glamour' comes from the same source."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I can't get away from you nerds."

"As if you really wanted to," Crowley says with a knowing smirk.

"So, are we having cookies for dinner?" Kevin asks. "Because I'm okay with that."

Sometimes, Dean forgets that Kevin is still just a kid. The stark reminder leaves him temporarily speechless. "Uh, no," he finally recovers. "We had a big lunch. We can just make sandwiches or something."

Kevin scoots back his chair and gets up from the table. " I can help," he says. "I think we're almost done, anyway."

"Really?" Dean asks as he goes to the refrigerator and starts handing Kevin cheese and lunch meat.

"Unless we made any more unforgivable mistakes and have to start all over again."

"I never thought about how complicated writing a spell must be, always getting them out of books." Dean wipes down the counters, removing most of the flour dust, so they can start working on dinner.

"There's a reason people write those things down," Kevin says, setting everything out on the counter. "Enochian just isn't very flexible the way English is—it's more like Mandarin mixed with ancient Hebrew and a bunch of other stuff that doesn't exist anymore—so we have to get it just right."

"How do you know so much about this anyway?"

"I was in advanced placement." Kevin says it with a smile, like it's some kind of joke now. "And I read a lot."

Dean has a feeling that Kevin reads more than a lot. It doesn't seem as if there's been enough time in his life for him to have picked up all these things. Hell, he's still a _teenager_. Dean tries to push it out of his mind as they put the sandwiches together, but he can't help remembering when he was that young. Life seemed easy back then. Sam was constantly arguing with their dad, and Dean was finally starting to do some things on his own. Hunting was fun. Or he had convinced himself it was because otherwise, he would have to admit that he was just a kid and didn't know what the hell he was doing. Dean can't help wondering if Kevin ever feels that way, but he's not about to ask.

The four of them eat together in silence, as if the events of the day have exhausted all their words. Dean cleans up the kitchen, serves still warm cookies, and builds up the dying fire. At that point, he realizes how tired he is, so he decides to lay down on the couch and catch a little sleep. He's warm and comfortable, and the voices from the table have faded to a pleasant hum. Before he knows it, Dean is out.

It must be hours later when he opens his eyes to see that the room is dark. A small glow from the fire still remains, and Crowley's telltale snoring comes from the other room. In his peripheral vision, Dean can see Cas sitting up in the chair across the living room. He has his eyes closed, so he doesn't notice that Dean is awake. And he's speaking.

"... best to keep you distance for now," he says. "I'll be in touch as soon as I can. Be careful."

Dean closes his eyes again, and tries to regulate his breathing. Cas was praying to someone. Warning them. About the spell?

Part of Dean wants to sit up and ask what the hell is going on. But a much bigger part of him is confused. Who could Cas be talking to? And why wouldn't he have told Dean about it? Dean is torn between feelings of betrayal and the need to think the best about his friend.

So, he pretends to sleep for another hour, then acts as if he's just woken up to relieve Cas. As they switch places, Dean can't help but wonder if Cas is really going to sleep at all either.

* * *

><p><strong>I absolutely loved writing this chapter. All heartwarming and grammar nerdiness, and then BAM! I feel like things are starting to move in a very interesting direction.<strong>

**In other news, I think I've decided which story I will be posting next. My poll wasn't very successful since I don't feel like five people is very indicative of the reading public. I'll be looking for a beta reader soon because some of the story is a little rough still. I should have an announcement about it's release soon. If you want more frequent updates and previews of cover art and stuff, you can check out my Facebook and/or Twitter pages. There are links on my profile.**


	24. Snow Angels

**Chapter Twenty-Four "Snow Angels"**

Dean watches the sun rise through the dusty windows. The fire is dying, and the room has gotten very cold. There's a covering of fresh snow on the ground that fell during the night. Across the room, Cas still sleeps fitfully. Dean tries not to look at him, which is difficult because the chair faces directly toward the couch, and his neck is sore from turning to look out the window.

So, Dean finally confronts the thoughts that have been warring in his head for the past several hours. But he still doesn't know what to think. Yesterday, he felt closer to Cas than he has in years. He thought they really connected over the nightmares and memories. But that was all just the first layer of crap. Just like it always is with them. They talk, but they never really say anything. Not the truly deep stuff that they can't even admit to themselves.

If it'd been Sam, Dean would've got in his face and demanded to know what was going on. He would have gotten to the bottom of things right away. But Cas is different. He isn't Dean's brother, as much as maybe they both wish he was.

The more Dean thinks about it, the more he's not really sure how he would handle Sam keeping this kind of secret from him either. Maybe because Sam's secrets always came out in big, messy ways. But this is just half of one side of a conversation that may or may not be innocent.

But why wouldn't Cas say anything? Did he really think Dean wouldn't understand? Probably. And maybe he wouldn't. The only thing Dean can do—and he hates the idea—is wait for Cas to decide he wants say what he's up to. Dean can always try to make it easier. He can drop hints. But Cas doesn't really get hints all that well. Mostly, Dean just wishes they could tell each other everything, but apparently, Cas doesn't trust him like Dean thought he did. There's something to that. Dean can show Cas that he really is trustworthy. That whatever is going on is nothing they can't handle.

What Dean wants more than anything is to get to the other side of this. To finally reach a point where he doesn't have to worry about who his allies are and what new thing wants to kill everyone he cares about. And he wants Cas to be there when that happens. He needs Cas to be there. There is no other side without Cas.

Dean shivers in the increasingly cold living room. He knows it might wake up Cas, but he gets up to put some more wood on the fire. No one's going to want to get out of bed to cold floors anyway. Then Dean looks out the window again at the quiet, peaceful woods covered in white. He remembers what Cas said about wishing their lives could be so simple. He realizes that he wants that too. He wants to sit and watch the snow fall for no reason. He wants to go stargazing again.

As Dean returns to his post and sinks back into the chair, Cas stirs but doesn't wake. The fire grows quickly, and with the light streaming in through the windows and the new warmth, Dean can almost think things will be okay. Maybe Cas has a good reason for what he's doing. Maybe he's not telling Dean to protect him. It would be just like something Cas would do.

But it doesn't sit well. Dean is the protector, not the other way around. It wasn't always that way with Cas, though. When he was powerful and following Heaven's orders, he saved Dean. In fact, it seemed like he was the only one who would ever be strong enough to do that. So, Dean will have to let him do it again of that's what this is. If it's not—if it's not, there will be no saving Dean anyway.

With that thought, Dean decides to get up and start on breakfast. The others will be awake soon, and want to start working again. Dean doesn't even consider sharing his new knowledge with Crowley or Kevin. If Cas is planning something else with all this spell work, Dean will have to trust him to do the right thing. Whatever that is.

**~oOo~**

Kevin wakes to the smell of bacon cooking and coffee percolating. For a second, he thinks he's at home, that his mom is making him breakfast, and he needs to get up so he won't be late for school. But the mattress is too thin, and the smell of breakfast mixes with that of woodsmoke and dust. More than that, there's someone below him, breathing loudly.

And Kevin remembers. He's in a cabin in Montana. He doesn't have a mom. Or a dad. He's alone. They're all alone. That's why they need each other.

From the sound of his breathing, Crowley is still asleep. Kevin sits up slowly on the top bunk of the old bed. There's no way to get down without shaking it a lot and making noise. Kevin looks at his watch and sees that it's already seven AM. Three hours later than Crowley let him sleep the day before. He doesn't feel the least bit guilty when he drops to the floor with a loud _thud_. Crowley jolts awake with a snort and glares at Kevin.

Kevin shuffles out to the main room. Dean is busy making breakfast, and Cas is still asleep on the couch. He did take the first watch the night before, but it's surprising that he's able to sleep with all the noises and smells. Dean has the radio playing some classic rock station through its crackly speakers, and the bacon was sizzling deliciously.

"No way!" Kevin doesn't realize that he's speaking aloud until the words leave his mouth.

"What?" Dean asks, turning away from the stove as if looking for potential threats.

"It snowed!" Kevin isn't even sure why he's excited about this except that he is. He's suddenly remembering those long Michigan winters when the snow days would stretch on for a week and is mom would give him carrots for snowman noses and make hot chocolate on the stove.

Dean looks at Kevin as if he has two heads. "You act like you've never seen snow before."

"Don't tell me your childhood was so terrible that you never got excited about snow," Kevin says.

Realization dawns in Dean's eyes, and he nods slowly. "You've never had a snowball fight until you've taken a couple dozen head shots from Sam. I always got him back in the end, but..." Dean is staring out the window now, smiling wistfully. "That kid had an _arm_."

Kevin smiles too. "I think we should take a break," he says.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, coming back to the present.

"I mean, a real break. Not a hunting vampires break, or a spell writing marathon. A real snow day."

"Yeah." Dean turns back to the stove to turn the bacon. "I think you're right."

**~oOo~**

"What exactly are we doing?" Cas asks as the four of them traipse through the snow after breakfast. The sun is out now, creating a blinding glare off the perfect sheet of white.

"We're going to build a snowman," Kevin says, holding up the handful of carrot sticks he grabbed from the refrigerator before they left.

"How can we build a man out of snow? And what good would he do?"

"You're joking," Crowley exclaims. "You don't even know what a snowman is?"

"Is it a metaphor?"

Dean laughs in spite of himself at Cas' cluelessness. "You'll see," he says. "Hey, we could even make snow angels."

Kevin laughs too, and Cas continues to look confused.

It doesn't take them long to find an area near the cabin with lots of space to roll out the base of a snowman. Kevin tells Cas to hold the carrots and watch. They make the foundation so big that even Dean can't fit his arms around it. The middle section takes two of them to lift onto the first, and the head ends up being twice as large as a normal human.

"It looks like a lot of marshmallows," Cas says, tilting his head as if to see it better.

"That's because you have no imagination," Crowley replies, pushing past Cas with his arms full of sticks and small rocks.

Dean adds the arms while Crowley puts on the face, and Kevin takes care of the nose. Dean stands back to admire their work. It looks pretty silly, but it's done.

"See," he says, voice breathless from the mountain air, "a snowman."

Cas nods slowly, still seeming confused. "It's a pile of snow that vaguely resembles a human?"

"That's the idea."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun."

"Oh." Cas looks down at his hands which are red from the cold. Then he frowns. "When did we start doing that?"

"Fun?" Dean replies. He hadn't thought of it before, but he never really explained to Cas what fun was.

"The concept is still foreign to me," Cas admits.

"Try this!" Crowley's voice comes from across the clearing just before a snowball hits Cas on the side of the face.

Dean looks in the direction the assault came from to see that Crowley is stockpiling more ammunition. "This means war," Dean says, bending down to grab some snow.

"I'm very confused," Cas says.

Dean grins at him before hurling his snowball in Kevin's direction. "Duck and cover."

The four of them scatter across the clearing and spend the rest of the morning lobbing packed snow at each other. Dean notices that Cas has a pretty good arm too. Crowley tends to strategize more, and his aim is always accurate. Kevin, on the other hand, just seems to be goofing off because he hardly hits anyone, but he laughs the whole time. Which is kind of the point of this whole thing anyway.

Eventually, they all fall exhausted into the snow, staring at the pale sky. There are more clouds on the horizon, bringing another morning of sparkling whiteness. Dean is starting to feel how cold it is, and he knows they'll have to go in soon. The chill is beginning to soak into his bones, and he remembers why he was so stressed earlier. A little bit of fun doesn't take away any of their problems, but maybe it doesn't have to. It could just be good for what it is. And Kevin had been right that they needed a break.

"What's a snow angel?" Cas asks suddenly.

Dean has a feeling he's been thinking about that all morning.

"It looks like this," Kevin says, waving his arms up and down in the snow.

Cas sits up to see what he's doing and copies him. Then the two of them stand up to see what they've accomplished.

"I see," Cas says appreciatively. "It's the impression of an angel. Thought it looks more like something on a Christmas card than the real thing."

"That's the only thing most people know," Kevin replies.

By this time, Dean and Crowley have joined them in looking down at the pair of angel imprints. They look sort of lumpy and there are footprints across them, but there they sit in the cold yellow light.

"We should go in," Dean says.

As if in response, everyone shivers and they all head back toward the cabin.

"Hey, can you make hot chocolate," Kevin asks as they walk.

"Sure," Dean replies.

"Do you even know how?"

"Of course. Milk, sugar, chocolate... If you're really lucky, I'll add cinnamon."

Kevin stops walking, suddenly, and stares off through the trees. Cas and Crowley have walked on ahead, so Dean waits for him.

"Kevin?" he asks after a significant pause. "You okay?"

Kevin finally looks at Dean. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... cinnamon. That was my mom's secret ingredient."

Dean puts his hand on Kevin's shoulder. It's not much, but it's all he can do. He knows what it feels like to have everything remind him of what he's lost. It doesn't make it any better, but he knows that Kevin understands.

"We should go in before we freeze to death," Kevin says, regaining composure.

Dean follows him, and for a second, all he can see is Sam sitting at a tiny table in a chair that's too tall for him, sipping from a giant mug of hot chocolate that Dean made for him. the stinging in his eyes might not just be from the cold.

**~oOo~**

Castiel stands alone in the bedroom, staring out the window. It's his turn to change out of his wet clothes, but he's hesitating; relishing, and at the same time hating his moment alone. He stares out the tiny window, feeling the room's chill on his bare skin. He can smell something sweet and warm coming from the kitchen as well as the ubiquitous earthy smoke that seeps into everything.

Voices waft in from the main room, happy and joking. Their tones create an eclectic cacophony of all the things that matter most in the world.

Everything about this day seems like a long forgotten dream that Castiel doesn't understand. Like this is what it means to be human, and he can't even process that. The fun, the almost pleasant ache in his muscles, the crystallization of his lungs.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he says to no one at all. "I don't want to lie. But I don't know how to stop."

* * *

><p><strong>I apologize for all the fluffiness in this chapter. I had the idea for all that in my head, and I was late getting this chapter done, so it ended up going in there in spite of how cheesy it is in some places. Aside from that, I actually like some of this chapter. I'm uploading it a bit late because I made the mistake of spending most of last week working on my new story, and then there were people at my house over the weekend, and then I was rewatching Person of Interest. Add to that the fact that my computer is being evil today, and I think I'm getting a sore throat, and I'm having the weirdest week. But I can't get sick because Kex3 is coming to visit me on Friday, and nothing must get in the way of this joyous occasion.<strong>


	25. The Real Nightmare

**Chapter Twenty-Five "The Real Nightmare"**

A long piece of fishing line stretches out across the living room in front of the fire where Dean hangs all the wet clothes. Crowley complains when the sleeve of Cas' red sweatshirt falls in front of the TV. It gets dark early, and the snow starts up again. Kevin brings his notebook over to the coffee table and works on some of his translations in between watching old black and white movies and drinking about a gallon of hot chocolate. The whole idea of taking a break seems to have lasted beyond their little outing in the snow. Which is just as well.

They pass the evening sort of working and mostly doing nothing. Dean has never liked doing nothing, but he can tell that everyone else needs the rest.

It's Crowley's turn to keep watch, and Kevin falls asleep on the couch, so Dean settles in on the bottom bunk of the bed in the other room. Cas comes in a little later and climbs up on the top bunk, but he doesn't go to sleep. Dean can hear the red pen scratching on the pages of the notebook Cas took up there with him. Yesterday, Dean would have thought that Cas just didn't know how to relax, but today, he knows there's more to it. Cas has got a reason to be stressed.

"Cas?" Dean says tentatively.

The pen noises stop, and a rather disheveled looking head appears over the edge of the bed, barely visible in the faint light from the living room.

"Sorry," he says. "Am I keeping you awake?"

"Kinda, but you need to sleep too."

"I will in about... six minutes."

"Six?"

"Six minutes from the time I stop talking to you."

"Okay, you have six minutes."

Six minutes later, the notebook closes, the bedposts creak, and Cas lets out a long sigh. Dean turns over on his side and closes his eyes. He lies there for a minute, expecting sleep to come, but it doesn't. Normally, all Dean needs is a flat space to fall asleep, and sometimes not even that, but tonight, it takes longer. Even after running around in the cold all morning, he still feels restless.

When Dean finally _does_ lose consciousness, he doesn't stay out. He wakes every hour or so from hazy dreams he can't quite remember and hears Cas tossing and turning as well. He also hears strings of mumbled words that don't make any sense, but he's certain his own name is among them. It's to that constant sound that Dean finally falls into a real, deep sleep.

**~oOo~**

When the glow of the firelight from the living room fades into nothing, Castiel knows the time has come. He was only able to sleep for a few hours, but it's probably better that way. Everyone else is asleep, and the cabin is cold and dark. It takes some clever maneuvering to get down from the bunk bed without waking Dean, but Castiel is more agile than he seems most of the time.

He puts on his warmest clothes and packs the rest of his things in the small backpack Dean gave him. He doesn't have a lot of possessions, so it's not difficult. He makes sure that his angel blade is safely tucked into his belt and leaves his notebook on the table after taking out the pages he needs and stuffing them inside his sweatshirt.

It's a long walk into town, but there's an old pair of snowshoes amongst Rufus' old gear that still work. It takes a minute for Castiel to figure out how to put them on, but he manages. When he's finally ready to go, he feels the hesitation that has been building up all day constricting his throat. Can he really leave them like this? Can he leave Dean?

Castiel swallows hard and shoulders his pack. He has to go. To help his family. To keep Dean and the others safe. This isn't their problem, but it _is_ all his fault, and he's the only one who can make it right. With those thoughts, he heads out the front door, careful not to make any noise until he is safely away from the cabin.

The snow has stopped, and the moon is shining, but it's so cold that Castiel soon loses feeling in his fingers and toes, even his face is starting to go numb. He decides to sing to himself to keep his mind off how miserable he is. The only songs he knows are the ones Dean is always playing in the doesn't really know what they mean, but maybe that's a good thing. It helps him push aside the doubts he has about his current course of action.

About an hour later, Castiel reaches the bus station, chilled to the bone and shaking. It's started snowing again. But there's an all night diner across from the station, and the next bus doesn't leave for a couple of hours, so Castiel goes inside and gets some coffee. It takes a good ten minutes for feeling to return to his extremities and much longer for them to stop stinging.

The tired waitress refills his coffee several times before the bus to Portland pulls in. Castiel has always liked buses for some reason. At least, since he's been using human transportation off and on for the last few years. It's still dark when he leaves, so Castiel hopes that the others haven't woken yet to find that he's gone. He won't have much of a head start, but if he gets out of the state before they know he's gone, maybe they won't be able to find him. It's best this way.

He knows he could have called Gadreel to take him anywhere, but what Castiel is going to do isn't something he can tell anyone. Even the only brother he has who doesn't want him dead. Castiel is going to fix his mistake, and he knows he has to do it alone.

**~oOo~**

Dean wakes to gray sunlight pouring through the window. He can see his breath in the cold room, and that doesn't seem right. It only takes a few seconds for him to be out of bed and in the living room. Crowley is asleep in the old chair, and so is Kevin. The fire has gone out, probably hours ago.

And there's something on the table that wasn't there the night before. A notebook, open to about halfway through. And a cell phone.

Dean looks at the page first to see Cas' squiggly handwriting filling up the white space.

_Dean, Kevin, and Crowley,  
>I'm sorry to go like this. I know you'll all be wanting an explanation, but I can't give you one now. All I can say is that I have to do this, and I have to do it alone. I know you would have tried to stop me, maybe even succeeded. I couldn't risk that. This whole thing was my fault, and I'm the only one who can fix things. I'm putting all of you in danger every minute I'm with you. On the next few pages, you will find the completed perception filter spell. It will keep the angels away from you until I can put them back where they belong. I can't say that I will return once I'm finished, because I don't think I will be able to; and if I were, I'm not sure you would still want me. So, I suppose this is goodbye. Thank you for everything. Dean, thank you for giving me so many chances when I screwed up, for making me a part of your family when I lost my own. I have no illusions of ever getting them back. But I was wrong when I said they weren't still my family. I have to help them. I can't give up on them, even though I know they've given up on me. I'm sorry for bringing all this on you, and I hope you will all stay safe now that I'm gone. Please don't try to find me. There are many things for which I will never forgive myself, and I don't think I could bear to add one of your deaths to that list. I'll never forget you, and I hope you can forgive me for this and remember the good things, few as they were.<br>Castiel_

Dean stares at the letter, but he can't believe what he's reading. It can't be right. Cas wouldn't just leave with no indication, sneaking away in the night. He wouldn't do that to Dean. That's all he can think. Never mind Kevin or Crowley. Right now, they don't matter. Dean knows the note was really for him. It's like Purgatory all over again: Cas leaving to keep Dean safe. It's insane. Doesn't he know by now that Dean is never safe?

Dean picks up the notebook and really looks at the phone for the first time. It's Cas' phone. He left it behind so they couldn't call him or track him. He really means it. He's really gone.

Dean leaves the table and walks over to the living room. Without a second thought, he takes the notebook and hits Crowley over the head with it.

"Ow!" The former demon recoils. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You fell asleep!" Dean doesn't realize he's shouting until the silence follows his voice.

"And that gives you the right to give me a concussion?" Crowley demands. "Nobody knows where we are, anyway."

Dean drops the notebook in Crowley's lap. "Cas is gone," he says.

By this time, Kevin has gotten up from the couch and come over to see what's going on. "Where?" he asks.

"Read it," Dean says. "And be glad I didn't hit you with the fire irons," he adds for Crowley's benefit.

Crowley grumbles as he looks at Cas' note, and Kevin reads over his shoulder.

"This doesn't make any sense," Kevin says, having finished reading first. "Why wouldn't he say anything about this?"

"Because I would have talked him out of it," Dean says, suddenly seeing things much more clearly. "He was praying to someone the night before last. Warning them to stay away. There's an angel helping him."

"And you didn't think to mention this before?" Crowley asks.

"I was hoping he would tell me what was going on. He didn't know I knew." Dean stares out the front window at the fresh snow on the ground. No footprints.

"Who would be helping him?" Kevin says. "He said his family had given up on him."

"The tall fellow," Crowley says. "Gadreel."

Dean nods. "You two make copies of that spell. I'm going to look for him."

"Look where?" Kevin asks.

"He didn't take the car," Dean replies. "And unless Gadreel came and took him, he had to walk to town."

"The former seems more likely," Crowley says.

"It's worth a shot. Just get to work on that. One copy for each of us."

"We'll take care of it," Kevin says. "Be careful out there."

Dean doesn't reply to that last part as he walks out the door. He doesn't imagine that he's ever been careful his entire life, and he doesn't plan on starting now.

* * *

><p><strong>I feel a little evil, but after that warm, fuzzy chapter last week, we needed something terrible to happen. And this new development has helped me figure out how to continue the story to it's conclusion, so it's all working out nicely.<strong>

**In other news, I will be posting a new story, probably on Friday, so be on the lookout. The title is "Family of Blood." For more information you can check out the links to my Facebook or Twitter pages on my Fanfiction profile. I hope you guys like the new story. I'm very excited about it.**

**(Edit: small change to Castiel's note from the first version because of the events of the next chapter)**


	26. The Cost

**Chapter Twenty-Six "The Cost"**

The fresh snow on the road makes keeping the Impala out of the ditch a more complicated process than usual. Which is probably a good thing because it gives Dean something to focus on besides his current situation. Not that he isn't thinking about it as he navigates the slippery route into town. He can't seem to make his mind settle on just one question: Where did Cas go? Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he ask Dean for help? Didn't he know this was the worst thing he could have done?

It's not even that Dean is angry at Cas. He just doesn't understand. The thought that Cas really doesn't know how much of an influence he has over Dean's decisions is frightening. Because Cas could have forced Dean's hand. He could have said this is the plan and if Dean doesn't like it, he can stay behind. Cas could have given Dean the opportunity to prove that he'll never let his friend do this alone, even if it means going along with an idea he thinks is stupid. And maybe it's not stupid. Dean has no way of knowing because Cas hadn't bothered to tell him what he's going to do.

That thought makes Dean want to slam down on the accelerator, but that would just get him stuck in the snow or worse, so he restrains himself. As if to pour salt on the wound, there's nothing good on the radio, making the trip feel like an eternity. When he finally does reach the town of Whitefish, the first thing Dean does is stop at the bus station. If Cas were on his own, that's where he'd go. He has a little money, if Dean remembers correctly, and it would be the fastest way out of town that early in the morning.

Dean concocts a rather convincing story about his mentally unstable cousin who's off his meds and decided to run away.

"He's about this tall," Dean says, holding his hand at eye level. "Messy brown hair, blue eyes. And a red sweatshirt."

"Oh, I remember that guy," says a kid sweeping the floor behind the receptionist. "He did look kind of out of it. I think he took the 5:30 to Portland."

Dean doesn't have time to wonder why the janitor remembers a detail like that because 5:30 gives Cas almost three hours head start. He does remember to say thanks before he hurries out the door and grabs his phone.

Kevin answers, even though Dean called Crowley's cell. "He's almost finished with his angel repellant," Kevin says. "Did you find Cas?"

"No, but I know where he went," Dean says. "Someone at the bus station saw him. I'm gonna pick up a few things here, and come back and get you. Maybe by then the snowplows will have cleared the road. So, pack everything up."

"Okay. I'm on it."

"Remember the food. Anything perishable."

"All right, Mom." Kevin laughs, but it's followed by an awkward silence.

Dean clears his throat. "See you soon." He hangs up and gets in the car.

It seems to take far too long for Dean to put gas in the Impala and pick up a greasy fast food breakfast for everyone. He almost orders four meals before he remembers that Cas isn't with them.

Thankfully, the roads have been pretty well cleared by the time Dean drives back to the cabin, so it doesn't take nearly as long. When he arrives, Kevin and Crowley have packed up the house, including filling every thermos they can find with coffee. It takes all of ninety seconds to fill the trunk and lock up the cabin. Before they leave, though, Kevin hands Dean the spell Cas wrote.

"Thought you might want this," he says. "We copied it exactly, so we should all be good if we carry them." Kevin folds his own pages into a small rectangle and puts them in his back pocket before getting in the car.

Dean looks at Cas' writing for a moment. Kevin had included the note with the spell. Dean separates them and puts them in his inside pocket next to Sam's last journal that he picked up the last time they were at the bunker. Now he's got two reasons to never go anywhere without that jacket.

**~oOo~**

After hours and hours of snow, the biting rain in Portland is almost a relief to Castiel. It's still cold, but there's no more danger of sliding off the road and freezing to death. This isn't his final destination, but he will have to find his own means of transportation from here. It's a good thing Dean taught him how to steal a car. Not just the actual process of the theft, but how to choose a vehicle nobody would miss with a low risk of being caught. In another hour, Castiel is back on the road, headed south. It's still raining and pitch dark, but he's optimistic. Or as optimistic as he can be fifteen hours after abandoning his friends. It feels a lot like running away, but he has to remind himself what he's running to. He's got a plan to save his family. Maybe not the best plan, but better than anything he's thought up so far which has been mostly nothing.

It's after midnight when Castiel finally arrives in the town of Ashland. After what little sleep he had the night before and driving all day, he's about to fall over. He manages to find a motel and get a room before he collapses. His final thought before drifting off is that he hopes no one will find him for another day. That's all he needs. One day before it's all over.

There's a faint light coming through the curtains early in the morning, but that's not the first thing Castiel notices. Because just under the window, overflowing from the small chair beside a low table, is Gadreel. It could be worse.

"How did you find me?" Castiel asks in a sleepy voice, absently wondering if Gadreel has been there long enough to notice the outward manifestations of Castiel's nightmares.

"You do not have the—what did you call it—perception filter?" Gadreel says.

"But I didn't tell you I was leaving." Castiel sits up and tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Which you should have. Whatever this plan of yours is, I can help you." There's a scolding tone in his voice like the way Dean gets sometimes.

Castiel shakes off that thought. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Dean told me you left. He seemed to have some suspicions that you had been contacting me."

Castiel feels his stomach sinking. He'd been so careful, hadn't he? "But he _does_ have the perception filter."

"I did not see him. I only heard his voice. He knew you were in Oregon. I merely narrowed down the possibilities."

"You can't tell him I'm here." Castiel realizes it sounds a lot like begging, but he doesn't care.

Gadreel shakes his head. "I was not planning to. You could tell me what this is all about."

Castiel thinks about it for a moment. He would appreciate the help, but he's not sure Gadreel would understand. But he's come all this way, and he's not getting rid of the angel now. "I'm going to send our brothers back to Heaven."

Gadreel has the decency not to laugh, but there is a distinct hint of mirth in his expression. "How do you intend to do that?"

Castiel gets off the bed and pulls on his sweatshirt and begins lacing up his shoes. "When I was helping Kevin translate the angel tablet," he begins, "I collected a lot of information that may have seemed trivial at the time, but it allowed me to develop a spell of my own. Metatron didn't make it obvious because he didn't want anyone to be able to undo his spell, but it's all there. It can be done."

"Then why do you have to do it alone? I should think Dean and the others would want to help you."

"Not if they knew the cost."

Gadreel looks as if he's about to reply, but then says nothing. He knows already. This is the part where he stops Castiel and tells him it won't work or it's not worth it. This is where everything falls apart.

But Gadreel surprises Castiel. "Are you absolutely certain?"

It's more the way he says it than anything, but Castiel knows he's on board. Perhaps Gadreel is just as desperate. Or perhaps he doesn't care what happens to Castiel. It doesn't matter either way.

"I have to fix my mistakes. Clean up my mess." Dean's words so long ago echo in his head as Castiel says them: _Clean up your mess!_

Gadreel nods solemnly. "I will help you, of course. You could have asked me from the beginning."

"I had no way of knowing you wouldn't try to stop me. I know Dean would have."

"He is not invested in the situation the way we are. He means well, but he is all human. Unlike you."

"I don't know what I am."

Gadreel smiles gently as if to reassure a small child. "You are my brother," he says. "All the spells in all the world could not change that."

Castiel stares at Gadreel unable to respond for a moment. They never knew each other before, being from different garrisons and ranks. But the angels were a family. They had forgotten. It's up to Castiel and Gadreel to remind them.

"Thank you," Castiel says. "We should go. The spell will take time."

Gadreel nods. "Where do we need to start?"

"The forest. I chose this area because there is a lot of uninhabited woods nearby. The spell will concentrate the power of every angel on Earth on one place, and eventually bring them all to that spot. I need space."

"I can get you there much faster than that... _car_ you brought with you."

"I needed something no one would miss."

"You definitely succeeded there."

"But first I need food. Like I said, it will take time, and I don't think I'll last without eating something."

"I do not envy you your humanity."

"It's not so bad. I'm used to it."

Gadreel gets a knowing look in his eyes. "I can see that."

**~oOo~**

After a short breakfast and a stop for supplies, Castiel and Gadreel relocate south to the Rogue River National Forest. Gadreel still hasn't asked many questions about what they're doing which somewhat concerns Castiel. He's never known anyone to be so compliant, but maybe he's been around humans too long. Angels are used to taking direction.

The rain has thankfully stopped for a while, but it's still cold and wet in the woods, and the forest is more dense here than in Montana. Castiel knows the spell won't be easy, but the conditions aren't helping much.

"I have to make a large enough circle while reciting the spell," Castiel says, looking around the suffocating environment and wondering if he might be claustrophobic.

"I can help keep you on course," Gadreel says, "but once the circle is closed, will I be able to stay with you?"

"I don't know. I think it's the second part that binds the angels completely."

"Then I will be able to help you until that time comes. What will you do then?"

"I have to summon the angels." Castiel looks into his backpack, just to be sure he got everything he needs for that part.

"And the last part?"

Castiel may be mistaken, but he thinks he hears a slight hitch in Gadreel's voice with the last question. "I recite the final words of the spell," Castiel says. "And then I become the doorway."

"And it will kill you."

Gadreel is so utterly matter-of-fact, that Castiel is sure he imagined the previous emotion. "Yes," he says. "If you don't want to help me—"

"Do not question my loyalty. I want to take my family home."

There is no mention of the fact that Castiel won't be included in that. Perhaps Gadreel was only being nice when he had said Castiel was still his brother. It doesn't matter. It's not as if Castiel ever had a chance of being an angel again, of going home for good. He's not even sure he'd want it if it were possible.

With a sigh, Castiel shoulders his pack and starts walking, speaking the Enochian words of the spell as he goes. Gadreel walks beside him in silence with a far away look as if he's thinking about anything but their current situation. It's just as well not to think about it.

But Castiel can't stop playing over the process in his head. He knows how this ends. He doesn't want to die. But he knows that he must.

* * *

><p><strong>Apparently, the only bus from Whitefish (or Kalispell, not sure which) to Portland is at like ten-thirty at night, but I think for the sake of fanfiction, I can stretch reality a little bit.<strong>

**On a more exciting note, I've posted the first chapter of my new story if you haven't seen it yet. It's under the M rating because of the violence in it, but everything else is safely T-rated in case that's a concern. New chapters of that one are posted on Fridays.**


	27. The Things You Do For Family

**Chapter Twenty-Seven "The Things You Do For Family"**

**Eight hours ago...**

Dean sits on the sidewalk outside the motel room in Portland as the sun comes up. He wonders if he shouldn't have asked Gadreel for help. The angel could very well be in on whatever Cas is up to. Not that it would be such a bad thing if Dean only knew what that was.

Kevin and Crowley are both sleeping inside. It's been a full twenty-four hours since Cas left, and Dean hasn't slept at all. Kevin tried to make him, but he didn't get very far. Dean won't sleep until Cas is found. Until he knows his friend is okay.

But in his note—which Dean has read over and over to the point of smudging the ink—Cas has said he's not coming back. So Dean has a good reason to be concerned.

He looks out at the pale, cold light drifting over the city and shakes his head. "Stupid son of a bitch," he mutters.

Dean has to remind himself that Cas isn't dead yet. That he could be nearby, and they just need some kind of lead. No one remembered him getting off the bus, but it was much busier here than the previous morning in Montana. All Dean's hopes rest with an angel he never wanted to trust in the first place. Dean tries to think of all the things Gadreel has done for them already, but he just ends up with more questions than answers. Why did he help them? What good did it do?

Dean doesn't get much further on that before Gadreel actually shows up, standing in the wet parking lot, looking like he's rising out of the morning mist.

"Where were you?" Dean asks, getting to his feet.

"I had to wait for Castiel to wake and tell me his plan," Gadreel said. "Thank you for leaving your perception filter inside. It is unnerving."

Dean has to smirk at that. "Good to know it works. So what is he doing?"

"Exactly what he said he would. He is going to open Heaven again."

"Then why not let us help?"

"He does not want you hurt."

"So it's dangerous? He could get himself killed?"

For a split second, a strange look that Dean can't read crosses Gadreel's face. "There is a chance he could be in danger." Gadreel pulls a map out of his pocket and unfolds it. "I will be taking him here." He points to a circle in black ink in the Rogue River National Forest. "You should have time to reach him before he completes the spell."

"Can't you stop him? Stall him? Something?"

"I cannot get in his way. I have promised to assist him. He is getting food now, but he will not be long. I must return."

"Wait." Dean takes a step down off the pavement, as if he could grab ahold of Gadreel and stop him from leaving. "Why are you playing both sides? Why help him and still tell us where he is?"

Gadreel gives Dean a look as if he could never understand, but the a realization seems to strike him. "Because he is my brother. And I have to help our family. At the same time, I do not want him to die, and you are the only one who can save him."

Dean does understand. Family. It's complicated. "Okay," he says. "Just keep an eye on him until I get there."

"I have more than enough eyes to watch him with several."

"Yeah, that's kinda creepy, but good. We'll be on the road, so you won't be able to see us."

"Either you will arrive in time, or you will not. I have left many things to chance in this, and I can only hope it sees a better end than my previous risks have."

Dean isn't sure exactly what that means, but he doesn't get the chance to ask. He blinks, and Gadreel is gone. It's just as well. He needs to wake the others and get moving. It's a long drive across the state.

**~oOo~**

**Now...**

Castiel knows the purpose of adrenaline. He also knows that it is not meant to last all day. He's tired. More tired than he could ever have imagined possible. His feet feel like they're going to fall off. He's muddy and sore and covered in scrapes and bruises. But he keeps going. He's getting close. It's a Herculean effort just to keep whispering the words of the spell when even breathing is difficult. But he has to close the circle. It will all be for nothing if he doesn't.

Gadreel disappears periodically to check on Castiel's progress. And he tries to help as much as he can by clearing fallen logs and branches out of the way, but he can't touch Castiel. Not even to heal his blistered feet.

Castiel always knew that even with Gadreel's help, he would be doing this alone. It's just that sort of thing. Much like how Sam did the trials to close the gates of Hell. But Castiel can't think of it like that. He can't accept that he could leave Dean in the same state Sam did. It's the same. Castiel is not Dean's brother. Maybe it hadn't made much of a difference lately, but when he really thinks about it, Castiel can see the distinction. Sam's death destroyed Dean. But it won't take nearly as long for anyone to recover from Castiel's.

Thinking about all this doesn't really help, but the monotony of his task gives Castiel little else to do. It gives him time to feel the guilt of what he's doing, all the promises he's breaking to the one person who really cares about him. It's almost enough to stop him, but he's gone to far now. He can feel the spell changing him from the inside, almost as if it is acting through him as he moves involuntarily.

When Gadreel reappears again, Castiel doesn't even look at him.

"You are close," the angel says. "But I sense we may have visitors soon."

Castiel can't ask what Gadreel means because he can't interrupt the spell. And without further explanation, Gadreel goes off again. Perhaps he intends to fight off any angels who might try to kill Castiel before he's finished. They can't possibly know that this spell will save them, that it requires a human to complete it, and that there is no other human on Earth who would be willing to make the sacrifice.

He staggers onward, not knowing how close "close" really is. He has begun to use the trunks of trees to steady himself as he walks. Even with the way forward cleared for him, Castiel has trouble putting on foot before the other. He is suddenly taken back to that day in the snow and the feeling of his body going numb from the cold. He remembers that it was a good feeling, a good sort of pain when sensation finally returned as they all sat around the fire drinking hot chocolate. He remembers the day before that when he told Dean how he wished that were their life. That walking in the woods and playing in the snow were all it was. Why can't he have that? Why can't he be happy?

Castiel sees a familiar break in the trees ahead, and he knows why. He knows he was never meant to be happy. He is going to die here, but at least he will die for something.

**~oOo~**

There is far too much nature in Southern Oregon for Crowley's taste. It's as if the trees are in competition to see how closely they can grow together. Never mind the ferns that tangle around his ankles. Why couldn't Cas have run off to a wheat field or a beach. Somewhere warm and dry. Not this sopping mass of green stuff.

But Dean said split up and find Cas, so that's what they're doing. Well, Kevin is waiting by the car trying to decipher what exactly is going on here from what was left of Cas' notes.

Not for the first time, Crowley wonders why they're trusting the word of the angel with whom Cas was having secret meetings. Generally if someone is keeping secrets, it's best not to take what they say at face value. But Dean is willing to take any chance to find Cas, and so Crowley is too.

The only thing the could make this day better would be if it started raining. Crowley curses himself for even thinking something like that. With his luck, it will happen.

But no rain comes as he presses on through the foliage. He tells himself it's probably worse in the summer when everything is growing and covered in banana slugs. He considers it somewhat ironic that he misses flat, boring Kansas.

It's a shock when Crowley pushes through a cluster of branches to see Cas kneeling on the ground, digging through his backpack. But there's something odd about him, like a strange tint to the air around him that Crowley can't quite see.

Crowley starts to say something when he's hit from behind and falls forward, bracing himself on his hands. He almost stands up until Cas' angel blade flies right past his head and into whatever it was that hit him.

The angel, as it turns out to be, falls to the ground, and Cas jumps—more quickly than Crowley would have expected—to retrieve his weapon. There are more angels.

Crowley reaches for his own blade and scrambles to his feet. They are surrounded in very close quarters. That gives them the small advantage that the angels cannot approach all at once. They do their damndest, though, and for a moment, everything is chaos. Crowley takes down one angel, but another comes from the side and knocks his blade out of his hand. Crowley takes a step back to avoid getting filleted and stumbles over a tree root, falling backward.

The angel stands over him with his blade raised. This can't be how he dies. Not in this rainforest Hell.

But the angels seems to have forgotten about or underestimated Cas, who comes from behind and stabs the assailant through the heart. Crowley is about to curse the fact that he now owes his life to someone he's barely begun to tolerate when another angel they didn't see runs at Cas and sinks her blade into his stomach. Without thinking, Crowley picks up the closest blade, dropped by one of the dead angels, and throws it straight at her head. As she goes down, Cas sinks to his knees, with his hands vainly trying to hold in some of the blood from his wound.

Crowley is not letting this stupid bastard die for him. Now while he can help it.

He gets up and moves over to Cas who is looking worse every second. "What the hell was that for?" Crowley demand, trying to help Cas to his feet.

"He was going to kill you," Cas says in an obvious sort of way. He's putting on a brave face, but he can't even hold himself up.

"You're really stupid aren't you? You can't see what's right in front of your face. I'm not necessary. I don't need to be saved."

"You saved me... What was that you said about always paying debts?"

Of course he had to remember that. "Now it's impossible for me to hate you, but you broke our deal."

Cas coughs. "What deal?"

"The unspoken one about keeping Dean alive. You being alive too is kind of the lynchpin."

"He'll... be okay."

Cas collapses again, and Crowley can't hold him up anymore, so he lets him sink slowly to the ground.

"You're a real moron if you believe that." Crowley reaches for Cas' backpack and finds a spare t-shirt to use to stop the blood flow. He holds it with one hand while texting Dean with the other. He can't believe he still has cell service.

"Crowley..." Cas sounds as if he's about to fall asleep. "You have to help me."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Crowley snaps, putting his phone away and adding more pressure to Cas' wound.

"No... with the spell."

"What spell?"

"To send the angels home... I have to finish it. My backpack..."

Crowley sees a wooden bowl and what looks like plastic bags full of herbs. He recognizes them of course. "You're doing a binding spell?"

"That's just... step two."

"What was step one?"

"A very... long walk. We should... hurry."

"You're going to bleed to death if I don't get you out of here."

Cas shakes his head. "I'm going to die anyway."

Crowley takes a good look at Cas' wound. It's bad, but he could still be saved if he got to a hospital. "Stop being dramatic," Crowley says.

"No," Cas says. "The spell... will kill me."

That's why he ran away. Why he hadn't told any of them what he planned to do. It's going to kill Dean when he finds out.

"I can't help you," Crowley says. "Dean is on his way. He'll say the same thing."

"I'm sorry," Cas mumbles.

"Save it."

"No..." Cas looks Crowley in the eye. "_I'm sorry_."

Crowley barely has time to shoot Cas a confused look before he feels a sharp pain at the back of his head, and everything goes black.

* * *

><p><strong>I didn't stay up to post last night because I'm fighting a cold, and I'm trying to sleep normal hours. So, I might be updating "Family of Blood" later on Friday too. Hopefully everything will be back to normal next week.<strong>


	28. Sacrifice

**Chapter Twenty-Eight "Sacrifice"**

It's starting to get dark, but Dean doesn't really notice as he races through the trees. Crowley's text message had been vague, but enough to concern Dean: _Found him. Hurry._

Branches whip Dean's face and drip water and blood in his eyes, and he scrapes up his hands catching himself on rocks and trees to keep from falling on his face. He's not even really sure where he's going. He could run for hours and never find Cas in this forest. But soon enough, he comes upon an obvious trail and even notices a scrap of black fabric that must have torn from Crowley's coat. He runs faster.

At some point, a strange humming noise fills Dean's ears. He's not sure when it started or even that he's really hearing it. It also seems to be getting lighter even though the sun is already going down. Whatever's going on isn't good.

The first thing Dean notices when he comes into an open space that can hardly be called a clearing is Crowley lying on the ground surrounded by dead angels and blood. But it's not his blood. Because a few feet away is Cas, leaning against a tree with his legs tucked under him. There's blood all over his hands, but Dean can't quite see where it's coming from.

Dean starts to run to his friend when Cas holds up his hands. "Don't touch me," he says breathlessly.

Then Dean sees the hole in Cas' red sweatshirt, and that it's not quite the right shade of red where he's been bleeding for who knows how long.

"Cas, you're hurt," Dean says, unable to think about anything else.

"I know... If you touch me, it could kill you."

That's when Dean realizes that the noise and the light are coming from Cas himself. He's radiating. There's a wooden bowl on the ground next to him full of ashes. He's doing some kind of spell.

Cas lowers his hands and looks down at something at the base of the tree. "It's...too late to stop now," he says as he starts moving his hand across a flat stone.

Dean moves closer to see that he's writing something with his own blood. It looks Enochian. "This is the spell to send the angels home?" Dean asks.

Cas nods as he continues writing.

"Why didn't you let us help you?"

Cas doesn't answer, but he lowers his head so Dean can't see his face. His hand shakes, but he keeps going.

"Cas, what's going on here? What happened to Crowley?"

"He was... going to stop me," Cas replies.

"You knocked him out?" Dean can't help feeling a little proud amid all the freaking out he's doing right now. "Why...?" He's not really sure what he's asking. Something doesn't add up.

"I... have to do this." Cas' voice is getting fainter by the second. He's going to die if Dean doesn't help him.

"Yeah, I get that, but you're in bad shape. You need a doctor."

Cas shakes his head before leaning it against the tree. His hand rests in the middle of the rock. He's not finished yet. "I won't make it out of this."

"What?" Dean takes a step closer.

Cas looks up and takes a ragged breath. "Dean, please." He almost sounds like his old self and his eyes blaze before he diminishes again. He looks suddenly like the faded vision Dean had of him when he was in the hospital.

"You knew?" Dean can hardly believe the words as he says them. "You knew this would kill you, and you went anyway?"

"I have to save my family."

"What the hell are you talking about? _I'm _your family!"

Cas gets that look. That pity he's always had for Dean. Maybe that's all it's ever been. "I'm sorry," he says. "I have to."

"No you don't. You promised..." Except he never really had. Cas never said he would stay.

Dean hears a shuffling noise behind him and turns to see that Crowley is coming to. When he turns back, he notices that Cas has started writing again.

"Cas, stop," he pleads. "We can figure something else out. You don't have to die. I'm not _letting_ you die."

Cas looks up again. "Dean, that's what sacrifice is... I know you don't understand... They're not your family."

"They're not your family either! They tried to kill you. They don't care about you!" Dean knows he shouldn't say such horrible things, but he can't think of any other reason to make Cas stop.

"Gadreel does," Cas says, but Dean can see that his confidence is shaken.

"Gadreel told me where to find you. He told me to save you. Maybe he does care what happens to you, but he doesn't want you to die either."

"No... that's not right... He helped me."

"Because he knew he couldn't change your mind. But I can."

"You have... such confidence."

"Yeah, and you wanna know why? Because you're human, Cas. You're one of us. And you are the only thing on this Godforsaken planet that matters to me. The _only _thing. You're the reason I'm still fighting, so don't you dare go dying on me now."

"I'm sorry..." Cas digs his fingers into the bark of the tree and pulls himself up.

Dean moves to help him, but Cas holds out his other hand, still sticky with blood, and now Dean can see that it's covering the front of his jeans as well.

"It's too late," Cas says. "I can't stop what's coming."

Dean watches Cas spread his arms and begin to speak strange words as the humming and the glow intensify.

"Cas, no!"

Dean is about to rush forward when an invisible blast knocks him back. He manages to stay on his feet, but he can't get to Cas, and there's something coming through the trees behind him. It starts out faint, but then turns to a crowd of people moving swiftly in their direction. No, moving toward Cas. As soon as they reach him, they disappear. These are the angels, and Cas is sending them home.

Unable to do anything to stop it, Dean watches in horror. Every angel that passes through causes the light to burn brighter. Cas himself becomes translucent, as if a bit of him fades away every second. Dean doesn't really notice when Crowley comes to stand beside him. He could have been there the whole time for all Dean knows.

Time seems to stand still while the angels continue to flow through Cas. Eventually, the crowd thins out and it begins to look like ghosts straggling along slowly. Then it ends, and only one remains, and Dean can see him clearly. It's Gadreel. Unlike the others, he stops and stands behind Cas. He clenches his fists, and his wings flash against the dark background of woods. With a powerful beat, he causes a gust of wind to slam into Cas, knocking him forward.

Without thinking, Dean jumps in to catch Cas before he falls to the ground. The light is gone, and the humming ceases. The only warmth is Cas' feverish skin. He suddenly seems much smaller than before.

Gadreel stands where Cas was, breathing heavily which is odd for an angel.

Dean turns Cas over to see if he's still breathing. His eyes are closed and there's no movement to indicate that he's alive. Dean checks his pulse, nervously muttering: "Please, please, please..."

He waits. But he can't feel anything. He moves his fingers, thinking maybe he got the wrong spot, but there's still nothing. He presses his ear to Cas' chest, and still cannot hear a thing.

"His... his heart's not beating," Dean chokes out.

A whizzing noise goes over Dean's head, and he looks up to see an angel blade buried to the hilt in the trunk of a redwood. He turns to see Crowley standing there, red-faced and shaking with anger, and Dean isn't interested in finding out why.

Gadreel comes over to Cas and sinks down to his knees across from Dean. He can't see Dean because of the perception filter, but he must know he's there. "I am weak," he says. "Yet I may be able to keep him alive long enough for you to get him help."

Gadreel puts his hand on Cas' forehead and closes his eyes. It takes longer that Dean thinks it should, but just as he starts to feel a pulse again, Gadreel collapses.

"Go..." he says. "I will... catch up."

Dean doesn't have to be told twice. He lifts Cas off the ground, and he seems lighter than he should be. Crowley is already leading the way back to the car, through the dark forest. With the spell over and the light gone, they can barely see two feet ahead. It seems to take much longer to get back to the car than it did to reach Cas.

When they do arrive, Kevin is sitting with his legs dangling out of the backseat. He's got papers strewn all over the place and there are ink smudges on his face.

"Guys! I think I figured it out!" he calls as they come out of the trees.

"Talk on the way," Crowley says shortly, going over to the driver's side.

Kevin then sees the state Cas is in and moves out of the way for Dean to get him in the car. It takes all of thirty seconds to get on the road, but Dean is sure that they've wasted too much time. Kevin has this freaked out look when he sees the amount blood, which is getting all over his notes. Dean's not really concerned with that. He manages to pull off Cas' sweatshirt to use to stop the blood.

"How did this happen?" he asks in a tight voice he hardly recognizes.

"Angels," Crowley says, never taking his eyes off the road. "He was trying to save them, and they tried to kill him."

"That's what I was going to say," Kevin interjects. "He found a spell to send the angels back to Heaven."

"Tell us something we don't know," Dean mutters.

"Metatron had to build a back door, but he made it so confusing that Cas was the only one who could understand it at first. The spell to lock everyone out could only be undone by the one who did it in the first place. And it would have killed him."

"Yeah, we got that." Dean tested Cas' pulse again, just to be sure he was still with them. "Anything in there about what happens if the spell gets half done?"

"That's shouldn't be possible. It sounds like if anyone touched Cas while he was doing the spell, it would kill them too. And once he starts it, he's stuck."

"You might have to double check that."

"Why?"

"Because he did the spell. The angels went home. Except one."

Kevin looks horrified. "Dean, he shouldn't even be alive right now. Unless it's somehow incomplete. Who stayed behind?"

"Gadreel. He stopped Cas somehow, but he was in bad shape afterward."

"I don't know how he could do that, but maybe he knows something we don't."

"Maybe not," Dean says, taking a long look at Cas' still, pale face. "Maybe Cas was dead until Gadreel restarted his heart."

Kevin doesn't say anything to that. He just looks terrified and confused. Dean doesn't blame him one bit.

"Crowley?" he says.

"What?" Crowley replies from the front seat.

"Drive faster."

* * *

><p><strong>The fact that I'm nearing the end of this story is so odd to me. It feels like it's always been there, and it will be sad to say goodbye. There will probably be around five more chapters at this rate. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with it from the beginning. I really appreciate all the reviews and favorites. I promise the ending will be well worth all the pain.<strong>


	29. A Small Good Thing

**Chapter Twenty-Nine "A Small Good Thing"**

Dean has never liked hospitals. His idea of advanced medicine is a bottle of whiskey and a sewing needle. But maybe he's a little old fashioned. It's something about the sterilized hallways and square chairs that bothers him. Maybe that and the fact that no one ever comes to a hospital because they want to. The waiting rooms are cramped, and every time someone walks by, Dean thinks there might be news on Cas' condition. There isn't. There never is.

Dean isn't sure what he expected coming here. It wasn't as if the doctors were going to declare that Cas was fine after only a few minutes. It's not like they'd had nothing to do either. When they had arrived at the hospital, both Dean and Crowley were covered in blood, only a little of it their own. So, they had spent a little time getting cleaned up. Kevin had brought them fresh clothes from the car, and now he's situated on the waiting room floor with his blood spattered notes and Cas' chicken scratch spread all around him. Somehow Crowley has convinced the hospital staff to leave Kevin alone, and Dean doesn't much care how he managed that.

Now, all he has to do is wait. It's been a long time since Dean has been the one left wondering. Questions and doubts fill his mind: _Will Cas be okay? What was he thinking? Will he even come back if he lives? Why did he lie?_

Dean didn't have any answers an hour ago, and he doesn't have any now.

Crowley sits beside Dean, occasionally grumbling to himself as he watches Kevin work. As far as Dean can tell, this is how they will spend the night. He thinks about getting them some snacks from a nearby vending machine, but he can't imagine eating now, and he doesn't think the others would be interested in food either.

There are things Dean could talk to Crowley about. Like what exactly happened in the woods before he showed up, or why Crowley was so angry when Cas appeared to be dead. But Dean doesn't have the energy for that now. He can't sleep of course, but he's the sort of tired that means he's just going to stare off at the far wall for hours wishing he could think of _anything _useful to do.

It feels like it must have been days, but it's only been a few hours by the time Gadreel straggles in, still looking exhausted and pale. Dean isn't sure exactly what happened back in the woods, but for some reason, he knows that Gadreel shouldn't have touched Cas. And Cas is supposed to be dead, but he isn't. Everything is upside down and backwards. At first, someone thinks that Gadreel is a patient because there's blood on his clothes, but he brushes them off as he looks around the room, his gaze always passing over where Dean is sitting. He must know they're here, but he can't quite see them.

Dean takes the perception filter spell out of his pocket and hands it to Crowley before getting up from his chair and tiptoeing around Kevin's mess to meet Gadreel.

"It is not over," Gadreel says in a weak voice, as if speaking drains him.

"You think?" Dean replies. "Cas isn't even supposed to be alive. There's no way to know what's gonna happen."

"It is not only that. Yes, Castiel's future is uncertain, but there is more."

Dean feels as if all his hope is rapidly draining away. What more could there possibly be?

Before Gadreel can explain further, there is a sudden cracking noise, and several lights blow out. A gust of wind blows through the waiting room scattering Kevin's work and knocking over a couple of chairs. Metatron appears in the doorway.

Dean's first thought is that Gadreel betrayed them. But then he remembers that all the angels were sent back to Heaven a few hours ago, and it would make sense for Metatron to look for them. He must have followed Gadreel.

Metatron walks unassumingly into the room, taking it in with a bemused expression. "I know you're here, Kevin," he says in a sickly sweet voice.

Dean almost looks back to where Kevin is still sitting on the floor, but he stops himself at the last second. Metatron can't see Kevin or Crowley, so they still have a chance. Crowley has gotten out of his chair silently and pulled out one of the many angel blades he must have collected from the fight in the woods.

Dean moves away from Kevin toward the opposite wall, hoping to draw Metatron off and give Crowley a clear target. Gadreel remains where he is, starting at Metatron with an unreadable expression.

"What do you need Kevin for?" Dean asks, trying to make a distraction.

Metatron gives him a look as if it should be obvious. "He is the one who's been ruining all my plans. The _prophet_."

Dean makes the connection. Metatron plans to kill Kevin so no one will be able to read the angel tablet and undo all his crap.

Crowley is close enough now. All he has to do is aim and throw. But Dean makes the mistake of looking at him too obviously, so as the blade flies through the air, Metatron reaches up his hand and catches it. He smirks and Crowley flies back into the wall, knocking down a rather large painting. In the chaos, Kevin his gotten to his feet and tossed aside a handful of paper scraps that used to be his perception filter spell.

"There you are," Metatron says with an evil smile.

"Don't hurt them," Kevin says in a shaky voice.

"Of course." Metatron turns sympathetic and patronizing.

Dean is not about to watch this go down without a fight. He breaks into a run at Metatron, but as he suspects, he is instantly thrown against the wall across from Crowley.

Gadreel still stands completely still, watching Metatron.

"I was beginning to doubt your usefulness," Metatron says. "Especially after today's event's, but here were are." Metatron holds out the angel blade to Gadreel. "Finish your mission."

Dean can almost feel his heart sink as he realizes that they've all been played. Gadreel wasn't trying to save Cas or help the other angels. He' been working for Metatron all along, trying to get close to them so he could kill Kevin. It's surprising that he didn't try it before.

Gadreel walks over to Metatron, still with that blank stare, and Dean wonders if he feels anything at all as he takes the silver sword in his hand under Metatron's gleeful smile.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters.

Gadreel looks into Metatron's eyes, and there's a flicker of something that the wannabe god doesn't notice, but Dean does. He doesn't know what it means or if it's a good thing, but the next second, he's not that surprised to see Gadreel turn the blade around and bury it in Metatron's chest.

It's only after the light fades away and the earsplitting scream subsides that Dean notices a banging on the doors of the waiting room.

"This is gonna be hard to explain," he says, looking at the burned out body on the floor.

"I will take care of him," Gadreel says. His breaths come in heaves, and he looks like he's about to fall over.

"You sure you can handle that?" Dean asks.

"I will have to."

Gadreel crouches down and puts both hands on the body. In a flutter of wings that is much more like a gentle breeze than the usual wind, they are gone.

Dean looks around at the chaos in the waiting room. At least there's no blood or bodies to explain. He goes over to the door, which he doesn't remember anyone locking, and opens it to find a couple of security guards and scared nurses standing there.

And Dean's got nothing.

**~oOo~**

It feels as if his limbs are being ripped from his body, skin from bone—bones cracking, splintering over and over again. His lungs ache for fresh winter air, for the burn that tells him he's alive. Is he even breathing? He can't tell.

There's a fire spreading through his core like a volcano erupting inside of him. Everything on the inside wants to be on the outside. His body is no longer his. It's filled with other things, parasites that sap every trace of strength from him. They are using him to get home. His body is the ultimate vessel to carry all the little parasites off this planet.

He should die soon. Once they have all passed through. The only thing keeping him alive is their strength, holding up his lungs to keep them from collapsing, keeping his heart beating. He's not alive anymore. They are living through him.

They why is he still here? Why hasn't his soul left his body? He should be waking to whatever meager happy memories Heaven will hold for him. He could find Sam. He could tell him that he died so Dean wouldn't have to.

But what if he's not going to Heaven? Metatron said he would, but that could have been a lie. What if Heaven has no room for someone like him. And if this is Hell, he deserves it, this constant hijacking of his very being, the pain and blood that are all he can feel anymore.

Then Castiel wakes. He is not in Heaven or in Hell. He is in a small room with pale blue walls and a window covered with thick blinds. He still feels that foreign presence in his body, but he thinks that might be the needles and monitors that are currently attached to him. He's in the hospital. He's alive, and he shouldn't be. The fiery pain is coming from the stab wound in his abdomen.

And he's not alone. Dean is sitting in a chair to his right, just inside the door. He's looking down at his hands and hasn't noticed that Castiel is awake. He looks terrible. His face is pale with a crisscrossing of bright red scratches over his skin. He looks like he could use a shower and a shave. And then Castiel notices the flash of white between Dean's hands. Paper. He's reading something. Without needing to guess, Castiel knows what it is. The letter he left two days ago. It seems like a lot longer.

He should say something—Castiel knows he should. But what can he say? He could apologize, certainly. There are many things to be sorry for. Only not the things Dean wants him to be sorry for. Except maybe he is. Maybe it wasn't worth it.

"I'm alive," Castiel says instead. His throat is dry and scratchy, and it hurts.

Dean looks up, initially surprised, but he quickly masks it. "Guess everything didn't go according to plan," he says.

"How..."

"Kevin is still trying to figure that out. It probably has something to do with the fact that Gadreel didn't go back to Heaven like the rest."

"He didn't? Is he here?"

"Well, he was until Metatron showed up. I thought maybe he'd double crossed us, but then he killed Metatron. He had to get the body out of the waiting room before anyone saw it."

"Metatron is dead." Castiel turns that idea over in his mind for a moment. "Gadreel was spying on him, pretending to be on his side."

"Yeah, I got that. It would have been nice to know that, oh I don't know, months ago."

There's the anger, the frustration. Castiel had been expecting it much sooner. He had thought that the first words out of Dean's mouth would be the accusations he deserved. This is much milder than what he had anticipated.

"I didn't want to lie to you," Castiel says. It's true. Nothing has ever been more true. But it's not a valid reason; it's not an apology.

"But you did," Dean says. "And I don't get it. What ever made you think I wouldn't help you?"

"I didn't think that. I thought that you would not be as invested in saving the angels as I was. I thought that you would be in danger as long as I was with you."

"If you were so set on saving them that you were willing to _die_..."

"There are worse things than death," Castiel says, remembering Gadreel's words.

"Yeah," Dean agrees with a humorless laugh. "There are."

That's when Castiel knows he really was wrong. That all the things Dean said in the woods were true. That if he had died, Dean would not have gotten over it. Ever.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says.

"I was the only one who could change your mind. But I couldn't even do that. Just like... just like Sam. I couldn't save him either." Dean halts, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. "I'm starting to think maybe—maybe I'm just not enough. To keep anyone alive, you know."

"Dean—" Castiel doesn't know what he's going to say, but he has to say something. "If you had come sooner, if I had been _able _to stop... I would have."

Dean shakes his head. "It's not like it's a bad thing you were doing. What Sam did, what you did—the were good things. Seems like everybody's gotta sacrifice themselves, and I'm no exception. But why do we have to save everybody? You'd think I'd be able to save one person. Just _one_."

"Dean, you're the reason I'm alive. Not just this time, but every time. You are enough. Don't ever think you're not."

"Then why..." Dean lowers his head so that Castiel can't see his face. "Why does everyone die, Cas?"

Castiel thinks about it for a moment, and Dean's words from a day in another hospital that seems like years ago come to him. "Because good things don't happen to us."

Dean nods slowly and stares at Castiel for a long time. "No more sunrises and snow angels."

"It was good while it lasted. And we're still alive."

"I guess that's all we get. Maybe that's our only happy ending. There is no other side to all this crap until we're dead."

"It's worth waiting for, isn't it? We know what's coming."

"It's just hard to believe it's really gonna happen. I mean, Sam told me to have faith in him, and I'm trying—I really am. I don't believe in anything like I believe in him."

"Hope is better than happiness. And until you saw Sam, I didn't have any hope. Maybe he's the only thing worth believing in."

It doesn't really resolve anything. It's not a promise that they'll both survive for each other, but it's all they have. And hope isn't such a bad thing to have after all.

* * *

><p><strong>I am currently working on the epilogue for this story. We're really getting close to the end. I can't believe it's almost over. Some of the stuff in this chapter will be explained better in the next two. There's a lot going on behind the scenes that Dean and Cas aren't seeing right now.<strong>


	30. Blood and Water

**Chapter Thirty "Blood and Water"**

"Ow!" Crowley exclaims. "Watch what you're doing."

Kevin is about ready to give up replacing the bandage on Crowley's head. The initial injury was from when Cas knocked him out with the blunt end of an angel sword, but it was made worse when Metatron threw Crowley into that picture frame in the hospital. Since Crowley was the one standing next to the broken frame and Kevin seemed to be responsible for the upturned chairs, the hospital security had escorted them out. So, they had found a cheap motel in Ashland where they were now attempting surgery, if Crowley's complaints were to be believed.

"You have to stay still," Kevin insists, keeping a firm grasp on Crowley's collar as he reaches for a clean bandage with his other hand.

"I would if you would stop poking it."

"I'm not poking anything. It just hurts because it does."

"Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Tran?"

"Blunt force trauma twice on one day? Yeah, I'd think it would hurt."

"Damn angels."

"Cas isn't an angel."

"It was their fault, anyway. If they hadn't stabbed him, I never would have been close enough for him to hit me."

"He did save your life, though."

"Don't remind me."

Kevin finishes applying the new bandage and goes over to the sink to wash his hands. "You think now that Metatron is dead, Heaven will open up again?"

"Does it matter?" Crowley asks, touching the bandage as if to be sure Kevin put it on right.

"It would be a shame to go through all of this for nothing. If the angels can do their thing without bothering us, that solves our problem, doesn't it? No one coming after Cas anymore, no factions."

"Don't you know I got out of politics when I became human?"

"It's not just that." Kevin fidgets with the hand towel. "This whole thing with Cas' spell is getting to me. He was supposed to die, but he's alive, and Gadreel is somehow part of it. What if something else went wrong?"

"I would say that's not our problem."

"But it would be Cas' problem, wouldn't it?"

"Only if he makes it."

"You know he will. The way he went to such lengths to do the spell in the first place means he's not going to give up on this."

"So what does that have to do with us?"

"We can help him. He left because he thought he had to do this on his own."

"He left because he knew he was going to die and that Dean wasn't going to let him. He knew we would have helped him otherwise."

"Okay, but now that we know better what we're dealing with, we can make a better decision."

"You really think there's any 'we' in the decision making around here? Cas left because Dean is the one who makes the decisions, and Dean wasn't going to be okay with the spell. Whatever happens next will be the result of Cas deciding who matters more to him: the angels or Dean."

"How do you know that?"

"Observation, Kevin. I watched the two of them as Cas was making his choice, and those are the stakes. Not that it doesn't affect us. It does. More than you could imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"If Cas chooses the angels—if he leaves or dies—we lose Dean too."

**~oOo~**

Cas isn't out of danger yet. Dean stays with him as much as the hospital staff will allow. After his initial waking, Cas has been in and out of consciousness, with only brief moments of clarity. He's on a lot of pain medication and hooked up to all sorts of machines. He looks so small and weak lying there. His face is almost ghostly white, and Dean tries not to think about that.

When he's not in Cas' room, Dean wanders the halls, trying to look like he has somewhere to go. He hangs out in the cafeteria, but he doesn't eat much. He can't seem to swallow more than a few bites at a time. Everyone leaves him alone of course. This is a hospital, and they're used to this sort of behavior from bereaved family members.

Family. Dean turns that word over in his mind. Way back when they first met Gadreel, Cas had said the angels weren't his family anymore. Now, he's saying they are. Dean was so sure that when it came down to it, Cas would say that he was more family than them. Maybe that's just because Cas is the only thing like family that Dean has left. But Cas hasn't lost everything yet. Most of his innumerable brothers and sisters are still alive.

It seems like this is always the way things go for Dean. He always needs other people more than they need him. Even Cas, who seems so helpless sometimes doesn't need him like Dean wants him to.

It's late the second day when Dean dozes off in the waiting room because he hasn't slept since Cas left Montana. It seems like so much longer than two days, but it never really takes long for Dean's entire world to turn upside down.

About an hour later, Dean is wakened by Cas' doctor, shaking his shoulder. " I need to talk to you," he says, with a solemn look in his eyes.

Dean's first thought is the worst, but he pushes it down, refusing to believe that Cas could be gone already. "What is it?" he asks in a sleepy voice.

"Your cousin seems to be having trouble sleeping," the doctor says. That's not so bad. "We've tried altering his medications slightly, but nothing seems to help. Considering the amount of pain killers he's on, it's surprising that he wouldn't sleep like a rock."

Dean doesn't know what he's supposed to say about that. Cas has always had trouble sleeping. "You think maybe something else is wrong with him?" Dean hopes the doctor will contradict him.

"I'm not sure," he says instead. "Does he have a history of this sort of thing?"

"He doesn't sleep well normally," Dean says. "He told me he had nightmares." Dean hates that he's even talking about this because Cas wouldn't want anyone else to know, but there doesn't seem to be an alternative.

The doctor nods slowly. "Considering the trauma he's experienced, that might explain it, especially if he's prone to nightmares anyway. He's awake now if you'd like to see him, but he does need rest."

"Thanks." Dean gets up from his chair and shakes off the last bits of sleep. He doesn't think talking to Cas will do any good, but he goes anyway.

When he enters the room, Cas is staring at the opposite wall. His eyes are unfocused and surrounded by dark circles. It looks like he hasn't slept for a week. Dean is suddenly reminded of the time Sam was hallucinating Lucifer and almost dying of sleep deprivation. Before that, Dean never would have thought that it was possible to die if you couldn't sleep. This isn't the sort of thing Dean wants to be thinking, but just looking at Cas brings it all back.

"The doctor said you couldn't sleep," Dean says, pulling up the room's only chair to the edge of Cas' bed.

For a moment, Cas doesn't respond. He keeps staring at the back wall just below the window, his eyes moving rapidly from one blank spot to another. He's exhausted.

"They're all still with me," Cas finally says in a weak voice. "The angels... I hear their voices in my head all the time. I thought it would go away, but... they never leave. A part of them is trapped inside me. I never thought—I never considered what the spell might do to me because I thought I'd be dead. Whatever Gadreel did..."

"But there's gotta be some way to fix it, right?" Dean can't quite comprehend the things Cas is saying to him. He just knows it's not good.

"I don't know," Cas says, turning his head to face the ceiling. "I'm so tired, but when I sleep... they get louder."

"Is it like how Anna could hear the angels even when she was human?"

"I don't think this is like anything. No one has ever done what I did. I wasn't meant to live through it. The strain of all those angels flowing through me was supposed to kill me."

"We'll figure it out, Cas. We'll make you better."

Cas sighs, and it seems as if all the life deflates out of him. "There might not be a way to make me better."

"Don't say that." Dean tries to put more force behind his words than he really feels. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it. Just like we always do. You're gonna get out of here, and we'll all go home."

A brief hint of surprise crosses Cas's face. "You want me to come back with you?"

Dean doesn't really know why this is a question. "Of course. What'd you think I was gonna leave you here?"

"After everything I did... I wasn't sure."

Dean is aware that there's still a lot to work out in that regard, but he'd never let it push Cas away. "We've survived worse," Dean says. "There will never be a time you're not welcome. It's your home too."

"Even though I lied to you, left you alone? And I'm sorry, Dean. I—I don't know what else to say."

Dean shakes his head and stares at his hands. "I can't say it didn't hurt, but it doesn't change anything. I made you a promise. I made _Sam _a promise. There's never gonna come a day when I won't be there for you."

Dean knows that Cas can't promise the same thing. He can't say that he'll stay forever. He's got other responsibilities, and Dean understands that. He knows what it's like to have to let go of the life he wants because he's needed elsewhere.

"Dean," Cas says even more quietly than before. "Will you stay? They're not so loud when I have something else to focus on."

Dean nods, meeting Cas' gaze. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

**~oOo~**

It's not a dream, even though it happens while he sleeps. They're with him constantly, burning through his veins, screaming in his head. He feels their voices rattling his bones. He wants to get out. To open his eyes and know that it's just a dream, that he's alone within his own skin.

But he knows it won't end. If he wakes, the noises of the world around him will drown out the sounds of angels, but never completely remove them. They are imprinted on his soul, living in his consciousness. And he's human. He's weak. He cannot withstand this forever.

After a while, Castiel forces his eyes open, giving up on sleep. The pounding headache that greets him upon consciousness is not much better. Dean is right where he was before, looking worse than he did the day before, if that's possible. But there's another presence in the room, just at the corner of Castiel's vision.

He turns his head, regretting it as the stabbing pain behind his eyes intensifies. There beside the window, Gadreel stands with his back to the wall. Even by human standards, Castiel can see that his brother is not in good shape. He has weakened himself by all the things he's done for Castiel. It looks as if he might melt into the wall and disappear; he's so insubstantial.

"We have been discussing your fate," Gadreel says. "And as we cannot come to an agreement, we have decided to leave the matter entirely in your hands."

He motions to Dean who looks at Castiel with an expression of mixed fear and hope.

"Whatever you decide," Dean says, "I want you to know you can always come back."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks, beginning to feel nervous about the whole thing.

Dean holds out his hand, revealing a tiny glass vial containing a glowing blue substance. Castiel can only stare at it, wondering if this is some kind of dream. It can't be possible that they have found his grace.

"Metatron revealed the location of the spell's elements to me before he died," Gadreel explained. "It took me some time to find it, but it _is _your grace, Castiel. I need hardly tell you what I hope you will choose."

Castiel looks from Gadreel back to Dean. "And you want me to be human?" He's not sure whether to be surprised.

"Remember that hope you were talking about?" Dean asks. "That's only if you're human. I don't care if you wanna be an angel again. It doesn't matter to me. But—but you'll never see Sam or anybody else again if you go back."

There's more to the choice, though, and Castiel knows it. He's not being asked whether he'd like to be an angel or a human, but who his real family is, who he can't live without. Before, he might have considered his obligations to the angels, but he's done all he can for them. He's sacrificed everything. There can be no more they expect of him. But he knows that Gadreel wants him to come back, to be part of Heaven again. With the items in Metatron's spell incomplete, everything will crumble. He would be able to come and go. He could still be part of Dean's life. But only for a while. Only until Dean dies, which is bound to happen eventually. No human lives forever.

The thought of death still terrifies Castiel. Even though he knows what comes next. It's a human instinct to want to survive. Every part of him is saying he should take back his grace. It would solve so many things. But there are other concerns. Gadreel might not survive much longer. And there does seem to be one obvious way to help him. In the end it would help Castiel as well.

So, he doesn't take the grace from Dean. Instead, he looks to Gadreel. "You take it," he says.

Gadreel stares back at him, utterly confounded. "What are you saying?"

"If you take my grace, it will heal you and open the gates of Heaven. Everything will be as it should be."

"It is forbidden to take another angel's grace."

"I don't remember that rule."

"It is unspoken because it need not ever be considered."

"Stealing it, perhaps, but I'm giving it to you. I want you to have it."

"How can I take the very essence of who you are?"

Castiel shakes his head. "It's not who I am anymore. I'm a human. I've made my choice, and I'll have to live with it."

"But Dean told me about the angels still lingering with you. How will you manage that?"

Castiel had certainly thought of that too. "It is part of my sacrifice. You may be able to help me one you regain your strength, but even if not..."

"Your family needs you, Castiel."

Castiel smiles at that though. "Yes," he says, looking at Dean. "They do."

* * *

><p><strong>Having an incredibly stressful week, but the end of this story is getting so close! One more chapter and an epilogue. I'm stalling finishing it because I don't want it to be over. Anyway, I love you guys for sticking with me this long.<strong>


	31. Moving On

**Chapter Thirty-One "Moving On"**

It's three days later before Castiel sees Gadreel again. It's the day they're going home. Dean has gone back to the hotel to get cleaned up and bring Castiel clean clothes so he can check out of the hospital. Gadreel may have helped speed along the healing process by his actions in the woods.

He still looks terrible. Even worse than before. So, Castiel knows that he hasn't taken his grace yet.

"I wasn't sure you'd be back," Castiel says.

"I have been considering your offer," Gadreel says, sinking into the chair where Dean usually sits. "I know I will not survive long on my own. I have the location of Metatron's doorway, but if I go back to Heaven as I am, I may die anyway."

"You think they would kill you now?"

"I think there are some who will not forgive. And I think I would like to be stronger when I face them. They would not dare attack me at my full strength."

Castiel nods. "My grace will heal you."

"But will it undo the spell completely if I take it instead of you?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I'm not going to become an angel again. Ever. The only hope is for you to take it. I want you to."

"You understand, brother, that this is difficult for me. When I was in good standing, we had rules, things were... organized."

"Then make them so again. Fix things in a way I never could. You wanted a second chance, didn't you? I understand that. This is your chance to be a good angel again. Just as it is my chance to have a real family, maybe even to be happy."

"If I do this, I will help you. I will make sure you are not tormented by the angels in your mind. And I will make sure that when you die, you will find what you are looking for."

For a moment, Castiel is speechless. He had not expected so much from Gadreel. "Thank you," he says.

Gadreel takes Castiel's grace from his pocket and stares at it for a long time. "There will be no going back from this," he says.

"I know," Castiel agrees. "Help our family, brother."

Gadreel nods and opens the vial. The blue essence quivers and like tendrils of smoke, it ascends toward Gadreel's face. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, and the grace races down his throat. His eyes flash blue, and his wings unfurl behind him. It's done.

**~oOo~**

Dean arrives at the hospital after Gadreel leaves, but he finds Cas looking much better than he has the past few days. The dark circles under his eyes are fading, and he's regained some color to his skin. Dean brings Cas' backpack full of clothes into the room and waits while he changes in the bathroom. The red sweatshirt is destroyed beyond repair, but Dean stopped by a department store along the way and found an alternative.

When Cas comes out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, Dean is reminded of the choice he made, the choice to be human. For Dean. It's a lot to take in, and he still hasn't fully processed it in the three days since Cas declared that he wouldn't take his grace back.

"I found this for you," Dean says, pulling something else from the backpack. He hands Cas the pale brown garment.

It's not the same. It doesn't have all the buttons and the belt which Cas never used anyway. But it's a boring, beige trenchcoat, and Cas looks at it like Dean has just given him one of his kidneys or something.

"I know it's not exactly like your old one, but-"

"No, it's good," Cas says, slipping his arms into the sleeves and testing the feel of the coat. "It's warm."

And that's the important thing. Cas needs something to keep him warm because it's cold out there, and he feels everything now.

Without further conversation they leave the room. It takes a while for Cas to check out, but once that's done, they go out to the parking lot where Kevin and Crowley are waiting in by the car. Crowley is pretty much over his head wound, and Kevin is looking more relaxed than Dean has ever seen him. He has a hard time believing that things are really as okay as they seem to be. They're all alive and together, and no one is coming after them. They get to go home today.

Home. That's a funny word. Like family. Like hope. All the things Dean never thought he had much of, if any at all. But he feels good. Which probably means something terrible is about to happen, but he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

They take their time driving back to Kansas, stopping at Mount Rushmore and the Grand Canyon and eating a lot of greasy, unhealthy food. They sleep more in the car than in motels, and when they finally do make it home, it's as if they never left. Coffee mugs with stains that will never come out are sitting on the tables in the library. Books and papers litter the rest of the space. And there's a smell. A smell like old shoes and dust and Sam. It smells like home.

Dean goes to sleep in his own bed, and somehow that means more to him than it used to.

Of course, it's not all easy going. Cas still has trouble sleeping. The angels haven't completely left him. He acts like he's fine most of the time, but Dean can see the bags under his eyes getting heavier every day. Sometimes he falls asleep at the table or while he's reading. When he wakes, he often complains of headaches. It's not something Dean can fix, though he tries everything. Cas seems to sleep better with some kind of noise or movement going on around him which is exactly the opposite of normal, but Dean's certain that normal is the last thing anyone would accuse Cas of being.

So, Cas plays AC/DC in his room at night and takes naps in the cushy chairs in the library while the rest of them are talking or working out the last few details of the angel spell.

Gadreel visits a week after they arrived at the bunker and tells them that Heaven is open for business again, and he's keeping all the angels in line. He tells them that Sam is doing well, but refuses to give any details. Dean is surprised that Gadreel bothered to check in on Sam at all. It seemed like the angels left the permanent human residents alone when Dean had last visited Heaven.

After that, life falls into a calm rhythm. Dean has never handled calm very well, but for once, he's grateful for the peace and quiet. He cleans up the bunker and works on his car. He even outfits another vehicle for hunting, just in case they need it later.

Cas starts to get a little better as the weeks go by. He seems to be getting used to the angels and tuning them out. Crowley is hardly ever nasty to him anymore, except in jest. Dean is pretty certain that's how Crowley shows affection, begrudging as it might be. Meanwhile, Kevin is downright happy. He still works on the angel tablet, but not obsessively. He eats and sleeps normal hours, and he's taken up practicing the cello again.

Dean knows that it's time to start hunting again, but he puts it off for a while. He's enjoying the break. But when Crowley starts getting more irritable than usual and Kevin gets mad at Cas for leaving laundry in the drier, Dean can't stall anymore. They are not docile men. None of them. It's time to get back to work.

**~oOo~**

Before Dean realizes what's happened, it's been a year since Sam died. He's still alive. He's made it. Sometimes, he still waits to hear that voice echoing down the hallways, those enormous footsteps thumping along the tile floor—but it's a pleasant ache, a longing for something he knows is coming eventually.

Still, a day comes in early June when the rain stops and there are no new cases to investigate, and Dean goes for another long walk in the woods. He remembers the way he used to come out here to hide, to try to reason why he shouldn't have to go on. He doesn't want that anymore. He wants to be with Sam more than anything, but he wants to go the right way. He wants to finish well.

"I made it," he says out loud as he walks. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm doing it. Living just like you wanted me to. If you're watching, I'm okay. As okay as I know how to be, anyway."

Dean laughs at that. He knows he's only talking to the air, but on the off chance Sam is listening, it's worth it.

"You don't have to worry about me anymore," he continues. "Say hi to everyone for me. Bobby and Ellen and Jo and... if you see Mom and Dad tell them I'll be there. I mean, you've had a year, you should've found them by now."

Dean doesn't know if it's possible for Sam to find their parents in Heaven. He's not even sure if that's where his dad is. That's not really the point. Seeing Sam again would be more than enough.

Dean reaches the crest of a hill and he looks back to see the forest and the bunker in the distance. He wonders if Sam ever came out here when he was alive. It seems like the sort of place he would have liked. Maybe that's why Dean comes here to talk to him.

After a minute, Dean sees movement through the trees. It could be a deer, but it's not. The color is too pale brown. It takes a while, but Cas finally reaches the place where Dean is standing. He looks more tired than usual. They had just returned from a long case the day before, which probably explains it.

"I thought you might be out here," Cas says.

"Did you need something?" Dean replies.

Cas shakes his head. "No."

It's an unspoken agreement they have. They always find each other. They know neither of them wants to be alone.

"You sleep okay?" Dean asks. It's something to talk about, and Dean really does want to know.

Cas comes to stand beside him, looking down on the scenery as well. "About like usual," he says.  
>"What about you?"<p>

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still have the dreams?"

"Not much anymore. I mean, there's always something. You don't spend your entire life killing things and watching people die and never have a bad dream. Unless you're a soulless monster."

"It's been better for me too. I think it's just time. I think you told me once that humans forget."

"Not everything. But I guess memories do fade. We hold on to the ones we want to remember."

"It terrifies me in some ways." Cas is staring out through the trees with a far away look in his eyes.

"What does?" Dean asks.

Cas turns to face Dean. "This hope we have. I'm not sure I completely understand it, but we need it. More than anything."

"We're all right, though. I mean, compared to the way things were, we got it pretty good.

Cas looks at Dean with that confused head tilt. "I never expected to hear you say that. Not after..."

"After Sam died. You can say it."

"I didn't think you would ever recover. I didn't—I didn't know if you'd ever really be _you _again."

"Neither did I. Truth is, I wasn't sure I'd live _this _long."

"I'm glad you did, even though you didn't want to at first."

"Guess that's another part of being human. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do to get to something better."

"It's just hard to believe that we're really okay. That this is our life."

Cas looks back out at the forest, and Dean remembers the morning in Montana before it snowed when Cas said he wished for a peaceful life. This is as close as they'll ever come, and Dean has to admit, it's pretty damn good.

"Sam always said it was worth it," Dean says, following Cas' gaze, watching another rainstorm forming over the hills across the valley. "I guess he was right."

* * *

><p><strong>I really can't believe this is the last chapter before the epilogue. I've had the ending in my head for so long, but it's harder than I thought it would be to write. I don't want to leave this story behind, I suppose. I'm going to miss it. The epilogue should be posted on time next week. It's not quite finished yet, but I'll get it done.<strong>


	32. Epilogue: Death to Life

_Epilogue: Death to Life_

Everyone dies. This is a simple fact of the universe. Human life is so short, so fleeting. And the good die young. Relatively.

Crowley is the first to go. He takes on a pack of werewolves solo and gets torn to shreds. Dean and Cas track the wolves down and put them down with a few well placed silver bullets. Cas' aim has improved greatly. He kills them with a cool precision that Dean notices because it's the way he gets when he's angry. Things were never exactly friendly between Cas and Crowley, but they'd saved each other's lives enough that they had a kind of loyalty to each other even Dean didn't really understand.

Kevin doesn't take it well either. He doesn't help with decommissioning Crowley's car, and he almost doesn't come to help bury him beside Sam at the old church.

"You knew he would die first," Kevin says, staring at the fresh dirt with red eyes.

"Yeah," Dean says. He can't really explain why, but it's true.

They have to find a new pattern. There's more work for Dean and Cas to do and less for Kevin because he only has to research one case at a time.

They store Crowley's things with Sam's since they could never really get rid of anything. It's strange to have an empty room in the bunker, to feel the absence of someone none of them thought they would like. But there is a hole, and it's not just the workload. It's the expectation that they will hear that stuck up British accent complaining about something new every ten minutes. All of Dean's bluster isn't enough to fill the silence. Cas and Kevin don't even try.

It's quiet like that for a long time. No one really tries to make conversation other than about work. They don't slow down on that. Eventually, they get used to it. Dean stops thinking about how Kevin is still a kid. They all become harder because they have to.

Three years later, Kevin is hit by a car. It's the most absolutely mundane way to go aside from dying of old age which none of them were ever going to do anyway. There's a period after that when Dean and Cas don't hunt. They bury Kevin by the old church, and Dean has to wonder which one of them will have to bury the next, and who will be there when the last one goes. The break doesn't last long though, because Cas soon finds another case and he and Dean hit the road. It's almost like it used to be with Sam, just the two of them with no one else to rely on.

In dark motel rooms at three AM, Dean listens to the sound of Cas' breathing to remind himself that they're still alive. That Cas hasn't left him yet. That Cas will never leave him. He promised.

Sometimes, Cas wakes in the middle of the night shouting at nothing. Dean knows it's the angels. They haunt him every moment, and they never leave. It's gotten worse since Kevin died. When they're out on a case, Cas never sleeps a full night through, and Dean has a feeling he doesn't sleep well at home either. The bunker is too quiet. The noise used to help Cas sleep, but Dean can't fill the gap Crowley and Kevin have left on his own.

They go on like this because they have no choice. They hunt every evil thing they can find. They go through the motions. Dean tries to remember things like sunrises and snow angels, but he can't seem to make the leap from the life they have to the life they should have had.

Sometimes, Dean makes the mistake of thinking about Sam. He thinks of how easy it would be to drive off a bridge and end it for both of them. But he doesn't because he's still fighting. Not because he wants to, but because it's what he does. Dean fights. Dean never gives up.

But a time comes when he feels like it. Cas gets careless. It's a wonder it didn't happen sooner with what little sleep he gets. He reacts too slowly when a very angry spirit knocks the rock salt gun out of his hands. Dean doesn't see it happen. He's busy searching the upstairs of the run down house where the ghost likes to kill people by cutting them into little pieces.

Dean hears Cas' screams from downstairs and runs toward the sound. He shoots the ghost, and it dissipates, but Cas is already on the floor bleeding from several cuts across his torso.

Dean drops the shotgun and sinks to his knees beside Cas. He tries to find the source of the blood, but it seems to be coming from everywhere. Cas is staring at the ceiling, choking and flailing with his hands. He's trying to say something, but Dean can't deal with that right now. He's trying to stop his friend—his reason for living—from bleeding to death.

"Dean..." Cas manages to say.

"Don't try to talk," Dean replies. "You're gonna be fine. Just hang on."

"Dean... it's... going to be... okay."

"No. No, don't you dare give up on me now!"

But it's already over. Cas has lost too much blood. He's dying right now, and Dean is wasting time in denial.

"Cas..." Suddenly, Dean can't breathe. It's too soon. He's not ready for this.

"I'll see you... soon," Cas says. "Just a... little while."

"Don't—" Dean's vision blurs, and he can't speak through the lump in his throat. He doesn't want it to end like this. He doesn't want it to end at all. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he'll see Cas again, but right now, he's about to be all alone in the world.

"I'm sorry." Cas' voice quivers. "I... did my best."

"Yeah." Dean tries to put on a brave face, even though he's failing miserably. "You did good, Cas."

"Dean... you were... the best. I—" Cas chokes on his own blood, and Dean wishes he could close his eyes and pretend this isn't happening. "I'll miss you." Cas starts to close his eyes, but Dean can't let him go just yet.

"Hey," he says. "You tell Sam—tell everybody I'll be there, all right. You tell him—"

"I will." Cas' voice is now a whisper. He's almost gone.

"Cas." Dean has so many things he wants to say, but only one comes to mind. "Don't leave me. Cas, please... don't leave me."

Dean's fingers dig into Cas' bloody coat. The one Dean bought in Oregon. It's been destroyed now too. Cas is gone, but Dean hangs on a little longer. He leans forward with his face against Cas' chest. There's no more heartbeat, no pulse, no warmth in the empty body.

Cas is really dead.

Dean thinks of all the things he could do to bring his friend back, and he knows that none of it will give him what he wants. Dean wants to die too. He wants to be with the people he loves. Not here, fighting day after day in an endless war against evil. There will always be evil, and Dean just wishes he could leave it behind.

After a long time, Dean sits up and leans against the wall. His hands and face are covered in Cas' blood, and he doesn't have any more tears left.

Dean finishes the case on his own. He doesn't feel anything when he lights the ghost's corpse on fire. He used to like this part, but it's not the same knowing he's sending Cas' killer to Hell. That should give him some comfort, but it doesn't. There's only a cold numbness in the place of any of the usual emotions.

Dean remembers this feeling, the complete emptiness he felt years ago when Sam died. It's the same thing, and Dean knows how it's going to go. He buries Cas alongside the others, knowing that he's finally alone.

Every morning he wakes up wondering how the world can keep spinning when he's lost everything, wondering if this will be his last day. But life goes on, seemingly forever. Dean loses track. He hunts alone. The radio seems to become louder every day just to fill the silence that threatens to crush his resolve. He's not going to give up. Not because he wants to live, but because he's too damn stubborn to go easy. That impulse to drive into oncoming traffic is still there. But it's just a feeling. Dean knows how to deny what he wants. Years of sacrifice have prepared him for this. It's a long haul, not like dying for someone. It's not Hell though. There's still hope. That's all Dean has to keep himself from complete despair.

Eventually, he closes up the bunker and leaves the key in Charlie's mailbox. He lives out of the Impala again. All of Sam's journals lay on the floor of the backseat. Dean sleeps on the front seat and wakes up thinking he might see Sam beside him. Maybe he'll just die because he doesn't have a reason to live.

But he lives. He eats and sleeps and hunts. He doesn't get involved. He doesn't make friends.

He remembers with bitterness the time he told Cas that he would die alone. He hadn't said it because that was what he wanted. He'd said it because it's true. When he dies, Dean is alone in every sense of the word. There's no one coming to save him, no one to miss him, no one he will miss.

He's locked in an empty room of an abandoned cabin, destined to be the midnight snack of a Wendigo. Dean refuses to go that way. He's got nothing to fight with, though. There's only one option. He realizes this as he stares at the one useful item he still possesses: his lighter. He's going to burn the house down, with himself and the monster inside it. It's better than letting it eat him.

As he gathers up what little fuel he can find, Dean thinks it's a little ironic that he's going to die by his own hands after all. It's not as if he has much of a choice, and at least he's accomplishing something good by his death.

With a pile of rotting rags, scraps of paper, and pieces of the floorboards at his feet, Dean hesitates. There will be no going back from this, no chance at being rescued. He's going to die, and for the first time in a long time, he is afraid. It's a fleeting emotion, but it's there. He felt it. And he's ashamed of it. After everything Sam promised him, what right does Dean have to be afraid? Maybe he deserves to be a monster's lunch.

He shakes it off. He tells himself to be happy that he's going to see Sam very soon. But somehow, he can't be. Dying like this was never really an option as much as Dean felt like it was. It seems like a coward's way out. He doesn't have a choice; he knows this.

Dean kneels down beside his improvised kindling. He holds his lighter in front of him and takes a shaky breath. He doesn't relish being burned alive, and he's hoping to pass out from smoke inhalation before that happens.

"I'm coming, Sammy," Dean says. He hadn't realized when he started crying, but he can hear it in his own voice. "I'm sorry... Don't hate me for this."

Dean ignites the lighter and drops it into the floor. Even without an accelerant, the dry materials burn quickly. Dean has placed them by the corner of the room, closest to where he believes the Wendigo to be. Hopefully, the fire will get into the walls before the creature has a chance to escape.

Dean stands back and watches the fire grow. With no ventilation, it soon becomes difficult to breathe. The heat radiates more and more. Dean moves to the far corner of the room to find some relief. He knows he could get down on the floor to avoid the smoke, but that won't last long. It's probably better if he breathes as much of it as he can.

The fire spreads quicker than Dean thought it would. The opposite wall is soon engulfed, and the flames continue moving outward. Dean has no way of knowing if the Wendigo is still in the building or not. He doesn't know if his death will really mean anything, but it's too late to go back now. He tries to take a deep breath and ends up choking violently. He falls to his knees and tries to breathe, but there's barely any oxygen left. He inhales the toxic air and coughs it back up until he's dizzy and seeing spots. The heat is getting closer, and Dean sinks the rest of the way to the floor, his face resting against the rough wooden planks. He closes his eyes and there's nothing. No lifetime flashing before him, no vision of Heaven or white light to follow. There's only darkness as he lets himself slip into oblivion.

**~oOo~**

It must be hours, days, weeks later when Dean returns to awareness, feeling a warm light on his face. He smells old leather and motor oil. He doesn't want to open his eyes or think about where he is. If he just stays like this, he can imagine he's fallen asleep in the Impala on the side of the road somewhere. He doesn't have to remember that he's dead.

Dean's not sure why he's putting this off—except that deep down inside, maybe he doesn't really believe that Sam will be here. The real Sam, as opposed to just a memory. Dean can't seem to shake the years of nightmares taking the form of his little brother. It's the only version of Sam he's had since his near death vision. And he holds on to that like a lifeline, but sometimes, he's not sure it's enough.

But Dean has never been one to shy away from the unknown, so he opens his eyes and finds himself sitting in his car on the side of a dirt road surrounded by pine trees. Through the open windows, he hears water running in the distance.

Dean gets out of the car and looks around. It seems to be spring, and there's a cool breeze whistling through the trees. There are no signs of life anywhere, but the road turns off about a quarter of a mile down, so Dean gets back in the car and decides to see what he can find.

It's actually kind of nice, the wind in his hair and a good song on the radio. But there's still that conspicuous absence in the passenger seat. He drives for what may be a minute or an hour (time doesn't seem to make much difference here) when he sees a lone building standing in the distance. From this far, he can't tell what it is, but he has the strongest sense that he needs to go there. And almost as if the world were reading his thoughts, he finds himself much closer than he had been a second ago. That's when he sees the sign that reads "Harvelle's Roadhouse."

Dean stops in the middle of the road and stares. He's really here.

He almost doesn't register when the door opens and someone walks outside and into the road. Dean has to refocus his eyes to see that the figure standing there waiting for him is in fact Sam.

Dean doesn't notice when he gets out of the car and starts running. Before he realizes what's happening, he's got his arms wrapped in a death grip around Sam's neck, and he can't breathe.

"Sam?" he gasps.

"Yeah." Sam's deep voice reverberates in Dean's chest. "It's me. You made it, Dean."

He wants to let go. He wants to look Sam in the eye and know that this is real, but he can't make his arms cooperate. He's afraid that if he lets go, it might all just be a dream.

But Sam doesn't seem to mind. He holds on just as tightly, and that's how Dean knows that he's not a vision or a nightmare. Because Sam has been waiting too. He knows how it feels to be separated from his family.

Dean has to let go because he needs to breathe. And he's surprised to find that he can. His life was full of suffocation; it was only fitting it ended that way. But now, he can really breathe. Sam is standing in front of him, smiling and crying all at once. They're alive. More alive than they've ever been. This is reality. Whatever they had before was some long, terrible dream. They belong here.

"There's a lot of people waiting to see you," Sam says.

It's at that moment Dean realizes what must be coming next. He's not sure he can handle all this. He doesn't even have a name for what he's feeling now. It's something he's never experienced in his life. It just might be happiness.

Inside the Roadhouse, Dean sees what Sam meant. Everyone is there. Ellen, behind the counter serving drinks. Ash, perched atop the pool table with his computer while Jo plays a song on the jukebox. Crowley and Kevin sit at the bar talking animatedly. Bobby, at a corner table with a beer and a book.

Dean doesn't see where Cas comes from, but he's suddenly enveloped in a hug.

"I'm glad you're here, Dean," that familiar gravelly voice says. "Even though..."

Dean takes Cas by the shoulders and looks him in the eye. "This is it, Cas," he says. "This is what we were fighting for. We made it."

Cas smiles in a way Dean has never seen before, and he knows he's right. They fought for each other. They fought for Sam. And they made it.

This is the other side.

The rest of the day passes in a blur for Dean. He knows that he greets everyone and there's lots of hugging and crying and laughing. It's late, and people have started leaving when Dean realizes that he's exhausted. In a good way.

Sam notices and tell Dean to come with him. They step outside into the night, but there seems to be enough light to see by. Sam starts down the road, and Dean follows. Before long, they come to a place that looks incredibly familiar. The flat landscape around the Roadhouse turns to the trees and hills just outside Lebanon, Kansas. The bunker looks just the way Dean had left it, but he's surprised to see it here. For some reason, he'd never imagined Heaven like this. But it's fitting.

Inside, all those who had lived at the bunker in life have arrived. It is as if Dean has gone back in time, only this is better. But there do seem to be small differences in this place. The most obvious is that the door to Dean's room is now further away from the others than it used to be. When Sam opens it, Dean sees why. It's no longer his room from the bunker, but a much bigger space with two beds and a bathroom and tacky wallpaper. Dean immediately knows what it is. It's home. The only home he and Sam ever knew in life. It's the sort of place they always felt they belonged, even after settling in the bunker.

Dean almost laughs at the thought that he's going to be sharing a room with his brother for eternity. He doesn't mind.

When the lights are out, and all is quiet, Dean finds it within himself to ask a question. One that he's been trying not to think about ever since his arrival. But it can't hurt.

"Hey Sam?" he says.

"Yeah?" Sam replies.

"Did you ever find out... what happened to Mom and Dad?"

Sam is silent for a moment, and Dean begins to dread the answer. "I'm still looking," Sam finally says.

Dean turns that over in his mind. That's not so bad. It means they could still be out there somewhere. They have to be somewhere. And he and Sam have forever to find them.

With that thought, Dean falls into sweet, dreamless sleep.

_The end._

* * *

><p><strong>There you have it. I can't believe it's over. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and added this story to your favorites and alerts. I'm so grateful to all of you for going on this adventure with me. I didn't always know where I was going, but I knew this would be my final destination. I'm a sucker for happy endings, and this was the only one I could envision for Dean. I'm sure his adventures will continue as he and Sam search for their parents and discover all the possibilities of this new world they're in. You have to know they're not just going to sit around telling stories and drinking beer. <strong>

**For those of you who haven't already, feel free to check out my other Supernatural story "Family of Blood." It's updated every Friday, and I've still got a long way to go on that one. Feel free to check out my Facebook and/or Twitter page for updates on stories. There are links on my profile.  
><strong>

**Until next time...**


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